


And These Truths Ring Clear

by Wintermoth



Series: Tales From Camp Dragonhead [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV) - Freeform, Buckle up kids we're goin canon divergence up in this bitch, Chocobos, Dragons, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, GUESS WHAT FOLKS? FUCK THE VAULT. WE AIN'T DOIN' THAT SHIT., Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, More tags to be added, Overthrowing the government, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Rebellion, Romance, So much Lore, The Heavens Ward were T E M P E R E D you fools, in which serious conversations happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2019-09-27 21:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17169797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintermoth/pseuds/Wintermoth
Summary: A future shaped by the choices we made, in ways we could never have foreseen. . .be it for weal or be it for woe.(Canon divergence from 3.0 quest "Unrest in Ishgard" and beyond 👀 ... yes this is exactly what you think it is.)





	1. The Hero's Return

**Author's Note:**

> Well that took longer than expected. But here we go!! 
> 
> I present to you the next installment of Tales from Camp Dragonhead, though we are in Dragonhead no longer! Buckle up, settle down, and brace yourselves because this is gonna be long sonofagun. 
> 
> YOU PRETTY MUCH NEED TO HAVE READ ALL STORIES IN THE SERIES BEFORE THIS BUT TBH I DON'T SEE HOW THAT'S A PROBLEM CONSIDERING ITS GOOD WOL/HAURCHEFANT SHIT ALL AROUND

It began at sundown, the Gates thrown open by persons unseen, giving the throngs of heretics amassing beyond the Steps of Faith what they had so desperately sought after. They came in droves, men and women, Hyur, Elezen, and perhaps even a smattering of other races, followers of Iceheart and even some who were not. They swarmed into the streets like rats, steel and fury bared, and the invasion commenced with the terrified scream of a gutter rat who watched them cut down a knight before her very eyes. 

Within a matter of minutes, Foundation was _burning_.

Shrieks and wails filled the air. Homes, businesses, and chapels alike put to torch with no care for who or what dwelled within. Knights and heretics clashed in the streets, conjurers braved the flames with their wands and Water incantations, while civilians ran for their lives from enemy blades and flames alike. But where could they go? Ascending to the Pillars would only delay the inevitable as the fires would eventually reach the upper levels and for those who made for the Gates of Judgement, only armed heretics awaited them there. Most who could teleport to had done so but for far, far too many of the citizenry, there was nothing to do but run. Hide. Pray.

Within minutes of the invasion, word had reached most major Coerthan settlements by the mouths of the terrified citizens who’d managed to teleport. No small number of House-sworn knights attempted to arrive in the city via aetheryte, only to find a contingent of heretics waiting for them to do just that. At least a dozen were cut down before the Temple Knights swooped in to clear the way. Ser Haurchefant was one of the lucky who had been delayed in his arrival, held back in Dragonhead ensuring that his people would be ready to act while he and a band of his own men and women made for the city proper. When they arrived, they joined the fray in ernest.

At first, the Brume was left untouched, the heretics seeking to break through to the Pillars, where the nobility and clergy cowered. But then a slew of them came tearing through from the east, pursued down a grand stairway which lead from the upper levels by a contingent of Dzemael knights.

The heretic who pressed his torch to barrels, shutters, bits of rope that he passed, was only thinking of delaying any pursuers. Even still when he threw his torch onto the rickety wooden stairs leading up into the city proper. Perhaps he was not born of Ishgard itself, perhaps he simply forgot, but in his haste to cut off the Temple Knights, he set fire to one of the only means of escaping the undercity.  
  
Not that it stopped the knights, oh no. Nor did a single one of them stop to put the fires out anywhere along the way. By the time a majority of the slums’ denizens realized what was happening, the Brume was burning. Those able fled for their lives. Some were close enough to make it up the stairs to the upper levels. Many quickly found themselves surrounded by flames. Some had the foresight to throw heaps of snow on the fires to clear passage before they grew too hot. Two lone members of the clergy who had sought shelter amongst those they had come to help, brandished their wands and conjured as much water as they could to clear a way out.

But they were too far away to help, if they’d even known at all, that the western steps had collapsed into a fiery heap, completely cutting off the road. Nor that several dozen people were trapped behind them, with naught but handfuls of watery snow nearly melted by the flames at their disposal, and no way out. Above them, platforms and tarps meant for repairmen were beginning to catch fire as well. Smoke filled the air, rising high above their screams for help, as desperate hands hurtled half melted snow and stones at the wall of fire before them.

She came from above, alighting on the broken, dirty stones of the Brume’s streets with an ease only seen amongst dragoons. Before the blazing heap of wood, she landed, as if challenging the fire itself.

To the people behind her, it was as if they were witnessing the Fury herself. The flames, which crackled and burned and _consumed_ all they touched, wreathed her in an unholy hue of reds and oranges, almost seeming to set her very hair ablaze. She did not look at them as she straightened, nor while she made a series of movements with her hand, which the people would later describe as her commanding the very elements with her body.

Water exploded up from the ground amidst the flames licking at the walkway in a mighty pillar that would have knocked a grown Elezen clear off his feet. Fire hissed and snapped, steam rising in place of smoke. The blast lasted for a few seconds and the drops had yet to rain from the sky before she was doing it again, and then again, three times in quick succession in the same spot.

When it was over, steam rose from the hissing streets where rain pattered onto lingering embers, and through of the area of her focus was now a path. Hints of orange still gleamed from within larger masses of wood on either side, a small but deadly promise of further destruction, a rekindling merely waiting fresh fuel, but the immediate danger, like the blockade, was gone.

Nobody moved.

She turned to face them, shoulders heaving from the strain of three _ninjutsu_ in close succession and, unbeknownst to them, the effort of carrying the heretics’ leader safely through the aether mere minutes before. In the dim light, no one could really make out her face, but no one could mistake the hair, which had blazed like dragonfire…just as the stories said. Not that anyone cared of such things in the moment but in the days to come, they would remember.

Words in their language, lilted by her foreign tongue, seeking reassurance and finding it in their relieved nods and cries of thanks and blessings. She nodded once to them then leaped like a dragoon to whence she came.

* * *

 

The bastards weren’t even letting people flee the city.

Damn good thing that Ysayle was able to talk some sense into the heretics barring the gates while I went to investigate the massive pillar of smoke coming from the Brume, or I might’ve just killed the lot of them. There were tears in her eyes when she returned to us but nothing but staunch resolve on her face. Her heart had been broken and trampled upon twice in the last few days, and now again by the carnage around us, yet she remained firm.

“We must hurry!” she declared to Estinien and I. “My people make for the Vault. They mean to strike a blow to the heart of the faith.”

Estinien scoffed, but his feet were already moving. “The fools. They’ll be cut down before they can so much as spit on the steps.”

We could do nothing for the heretics who lay dying or dead on the ground and she spared them little more than a passing glance. Nothing more than they deserved. Assuming members of their ranks had been assigned to hold Foundation, they were sorely losing, and those who had pressed further into the city would soon find themselves completely cut off. Regardless of what they had done, what they planned to do, these people did not deserve to be slaughtered in such a way. We learned quickly that there were large contingents trying to break through in the west past the Skysteel Manfuactuary, and to the east near the Temple Knight’s headquarters.

East was closer, certainly, but taking Ysayle there could get her killed and she needed as much time as possible to quell her people. So, we headed west.

Though Ysayle did not stop to break up the smaller skirmishes happening between heretics and knights on the way, her presence did not go unnoticed, and cries of “ _Lady Iceheart!”_ followed us up the stairs towards the mass of clashing foes.

“STOP!” Ysayle bellowed at the top of her lungs and threw herself, unarmed and unprotected, into the ranks of her people.

“Ysayle!” I shrieked.

Estinien cursed loudly and leaped into the air.

I craned my neck, looking for a path through, but quickly lost sight of Ysayle in the mass of people. Gods damned elezen and their stupid heights. Sighing in exasperation, I searched for a good vantage then _shukuchi_ jumped onto a window ledge above the fray. I spotted Ysayle’s silvery hair almost immediately near the middle of it all.

“STOP, I SAY!” This time, her command carried through the air, halting the skirmishes around, but only for a moment. The sight of her brought the heretics to a pause but the Ishgardians felt no such compliancy.

With a shout not unlike the roar of the dragon he had so recently slain, Estinien dropped from the sky and slammed his lance into the cobblestones beside Ysayle _._ Ysayle threw her hands up to protect herself from the mighty crack which pierced the air. People sprang apart, allegiances and sides momentarily forgotten in the instinctive panic to put distance between themselves and the new, frightening presence. Estinien rose to his full height with a bellow, “ENOUGH!”

Well. That was one way to break up a riot.

Ysayle lowered her hands, chest heaving from effort and shock, then she spun in a circle, arms spread wide. “Comrades! Brothers and sisters! Children of Thordan all! Sheathe your swords! There is no need for further bloodshed!”

“My lady!” shouted several members of the crowd below.

“She is come!” a woman cried, sounding awestruck, and her words prompted vigorous cheering from the sigil-less warriors below. The Ishgardians looked around nervously, though no one seemed brave enough to strike once more.

Except one.

“ ** _Witch_**!” a lone Temple Knight spat and charged forth with his lance poised to run Ysayle clean through

It hadn’t occurred to me until that very moment that the _shukuchi_ technique could be used to deliver a devastating body check. The momentum from my lunge was minimal at best but when combined with a teleport, the result was not unlike hurtling a boulder at someone point blank. The knight crumpled to the ground like a sack of popotos and stayed there. I lay sprawled across him for a moment, stunned, then shook my head and I sprang to my feet like that'd been my plan all along.

“Anyone else?” I asked, brandishing my daggers, and turned back and forth, daring someone, anyone, to try me. No one moved.

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

“You best get on with it, Lady Iceheart,” Estinien muttered and Ysayle squared her shoulders.

“Hear me! The war is ended! Nidhogg is no more!”

The crowd erupted into gasps and shouts of shock and disbelief on all sides. At my feet, the knight I had knocked down pushed himself onto his hands and feet and crawled backwards from us to his fellows.

“Aye!” she went on. “It is so! The Azure Dragoon and the Warrior of Light laid the great wyrm low but hours ago! I myself bore witness to the evidence of his demise! Nidhogg is dead!”

The disbelief persisted, and the shock, cries of Nidhogg’s death ringing out both in victory and confusion. I felt all their eyes on me, the outsider, the unknown, she who had felled Shiva twice over now standing beside Lady Iceheart herself as her protector, with the blood of Nidhogg on her hands. Literally.

(Profusely in Estinien’s case.)

“My brothers and sisters, you know as well as I that the endless cycle of violence which we have all suffered under was born of our forefathers’ treachery. You have followed me, bled with me, that we might bring this truth to light, that we might all know peace! But never, never I say, have we fought to see the violence continue! Nay, we have fought to end the war and now Nidhogg is dead! He who bore such hatred towards Ishgard is _dead_!”

She turned again, speaking to everyone now. “Let his hatred die with him, I say! Though our paths and beliefs have diverged, we are all of us sons and daughters of Thordan, and what do we all wish for if not peace? Were we to cast off our armor and stand beside each other as we do our own kin, would we even be able to tell one from another?”

No one answered her directly, but a murmur swept through the crowd and for the first time, I saw Ishgardians and heretics alike looking at each other in consideration.

“Peace?” came a voice in utter disbelief.

“Peace,” Ysayle echoed, “and it is within our grasp! I for one would not forsake it! I beg of you, I beg of you all, to do the same. So, come, sheathe your swords and stay your hands! Abandon this course and depart with me!”

And then…miraculously…came the sounds of a dozen, perhaps two dozen, swords sliding into their sheathes, and though the murmuring from the crowd was hardly victorious, or even positive, the heretics withdrew. And the Ishgardians let them, lowering their weapons as they passed, though never sheathing them.

Ysayle looked at Estinien, then me. “Come. We must see if any yet live to the east.”

We both nodded. “I will go on ahead,” Estinien said. “Gods willing, Ser Aymeric will present.”

“Hurry,” Ysayle insisted.

He nodded and coiled to spring.

“Estinien!” cried the same knight who had tried to kill Ysayle. “Why are you with the ice witch?”

Estinien threw him a withering look. After several weeks straight with him, I was getting good at reading what little of his face I could actually see. “Ending this bloody war before it takes even more from us. And what are you doing, apart from attacking unarmed women?”

He Jumped into the air and disappeared over the rooftops.

Ysayle turned to me. “Come.” I nodded, and we raced back the way we had come.

As we ran through the city, we encountered more, smaller groups of fighting. Time and time again, she threw herself amidst clashing steel to scream reason at her people, and time and time again I blocked blows meant for her. We did what we could to break up the fighting, to urge the Ishgardians to abandon their bloodlust even as Ysayle pleaded with her people to throw down their arms and flee the city with their lives. But, really, t’was the revelation that Nidhogg had been slain that convinced most to part ways.

* * *

 

Hours later, when the fighting had ceased, the fires were being quelled, and those heretics who remained within the city were either corpses, the injured, or their unarmed fellows attempting to safely remove them, I was left sitting alone near the Gates of Judgement, utterly exhausted. Estinien was…somewhere and I had seen Ysayle onto the Steps of Faith before leaving her to her people. Blood long dried, some of it Nidhogg’s some of it Spoken, covered my gloves, my armor, and even had managed to cake under my fingernails. Or maybe that was soot. Or dirt. I had plenty of both on me as well.

I sighed, letting my hands hang off my knees, and my head thunked against the stone behind me. My eyes drifted to the heavens and the stars twinkling there. A clear, beautiful night, as if the Fury herself had banished the clouds so that she could bear witness this night.

Perhaps I should’ve returned to the manor by then, but the journey there seemed rather daunting. Sleeping at the Gates certainly wasn’t an option, though, and I was sure that Tataru and Alphinaud were beside themselves with worry. At least I knew they were safe. Unable to stay, unwilling to go. Quite the pickle. Oh, well, after the day I’d had, I deserved a chance to mull it over for a while in peace.

Except there was no peace to be had for now that the adrenaline had faded, the hurts of the day were beginning to surface once more. I had not escaped Nidhogg unscathed and the rioters had landed a few blows on me themselves. Finally, I decided I’d had enough of the cold seeping into my bones and mustered the strength to push myself to my feet. At least I had the aetherytes to make my journey quicker.

When I arrived at the Fortemps Manor, there were four guards instead of the usual two, and all of them snapped to attention as I approached.

“Oh!” one cried. “Mistress Rain, you’ve returned!”

“Is it true?” another, a woman, asked. “Nidhogg is fallen?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh!” the knight clasped her hands together, spear and all. Similar exclamations of delight came from the others and even across the road from the guards in front of Haillenarte manor. Cries praising the Fury, blessing me, and wordless jubilation. The female knight ran to get the door for me and I smiled weakly at her as I passed.

Footsteps down the hall, then the head steward appeared around the corner, drawn in by the sound of the front door. His entire expression lit up when he saw me. “Oh, thank the Fury, you are safe! Come quickly to the solar!” He put his hand behind my back but did not make contact, merely guiding instead of pushing. “Everyone has gathered to await news on you—oh, goodness, you in a state. I shall see to it that a bath and a hot meal are prepared at once.”

“Thank you, sir,” I replied as the Steward ushered me further into the house.

He opened the door for me, declaring loud and proud that I had returned safely, and was answered by a cacophony of voices that only swelled when I came into view. Tataru and Alphinaud rushed forward to greet me, the former with big fat tears in her eyes. Behind them I saw the Count, who seemed to lean more heavily against his cane when he saw me, Artoirel, Emmanellain, Honoroit, and even Estinien. No Haurchefant, which was a little disappointing, but that meant that he’d been safe in Dragonhead all along, as I’d hoped.

Tataru threw her little arms around me leg and hugged me so tight that it was a miracle I remained upright. Even Alphinaud, overcome with relief, decided to forgo his usual restraint and hug me tightly. There was so much going on I was honestly too worn out to even try and process it all, but from what I’d gathered, Estinien had completely lost track of me some time ago and people had been sent out looking for me. Whoops.

“Oh, oh you look awful!” Tataru declared, noticing for the first time the state I was in.  
  
“Yeah? I’m doing better than he is.” I jerked my head at Estinien and his new blood red amour. “That’s not paint.”

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Everyone turned to look at the Azu—er…Crimson Dragoon in horror.

“Thal’s…beard…” Tataru murmured.

“You should see the other fellow,” Estinien quipped glibly. “And speaking of other fellows, Ser Aymeric wishes to hear our report.”

I very nearly groaned aloud then opened my mouth to object, but Edmont beat me to it.

“Ser Aymeric can wait until tomorrow,” he replied firmly. “She needs rest. As do you, I am sure. Better to tell your tale with clear heads. There is no detail which will escape you overnight that would not also do so under the fogginess of exhaustion.”

Estinien considered him for a moment. “Very well. By your leave, Count Edmont.”

Edmont dipped his head. “Go carefully, Ser.”

“My lords.” He looked at me. “Ladies.” Then he left without looking back.

“Now,” said the Count, coming towards me, “as for you—Halone’s blessings be upon you, my lady—” I perked up a little at the show of respect “—for you have done all of Ishgard a serv—no, more than a service. You have delivered unto us a miracle, more than I ever expected in my lifetime. I should very much like to hear of all you have witnessed but I shall not further impose upon you by keeping you on your feet any longer.” He stopped in front of me. “You shall find your room just as you left it, with a warm fire, and I shall see to it that food is sent to you—”

“I think the steward already is.”

“Excellent. Then, please, rest. All else can wait.”

“Thank you.”

“No, my lady, thank _you_.” Then before my eyes, Count Edmont de Fortemps bowed at the waist. To me. Behind him, his sons and all the staff followed suit.

And with that, too much had officially happened today.

Tataru slipped her tiny, trembling hand into my own. “I’ll help you with your armor,” she suggested.  
  
The Count righted himself and nodded to me once with a smile that was almost…fatherly. Well then.

I let Tataru lead me through the halls of the manor towards our rooms, grateful for the grounding presence of her hand in mine, even if she was too small to provide any substantial support for my tired body.

“You never fail to impress, do you?” she mused, glancing at me over her shoulder with a twinkle in her eye. “Primals, Ascians, now the dreadwyrm himself! Ooh, the songs they’ll be singin’ about you!”

“If they have any decency, they’ll sing the chorus off key every time,” I deadpanned. “For authenticity.”

She giggled, squeezing my fingers. “I’ll be sure to tell every bard I see.”

“What would I do without you, Tataru? …Die, probably.”

“Oh, now, don’t say that!” She admonished, and we continued on in silence for a few moments. “Though you’re probably right.”

The moment Tataru opened the door to my room, I was hit with a burst of warm air and the scent of vanilla. The faucet was running full blast in the washroom and I could hear someone moving about behind the privacy screen. A maid, I soon discovered, as Tataru lead me straight in there, probably in an attempt to save the fine carpets from my filth.

The maid, a fair Elezen by the name of Jainette, greeted me with a courtesy that was a bit more formal than I was used to. “Halone’s blessings upon you, my lady.”

“And you?” I replied awkwardly. I wasn’t quite…sure how to interact with the manor staff seeing how most of us came from relatively the same station in life. Probably. I was only any better than them because a giant sentient crystal decided I should be the one to kick ass and take names for it.

Damn I was tired.

Jainette exhaled a laugh and nodded. “I’ve added some oils to your bath to help your muscles relax. If it please you, I can see your clothing laundered and mended on the morrow.”

“That would be perfect,” Tataru answered for me. “Don’t want them laying here all night and stinking up the place.”

“Excuse me?” I demanded, a bit miffed.

“Well, Rain, I’m sorry to say, but you smell like you killed a dragon today.”

I blinked. Tataru stared at me. Jainette lifted her gaze to the ceiling.

“…Oh. …Better than Estinien, at least?”

“ _Marginally,_ ” she emphasized. “Now strip.”

Being a rogue, my fighting style was more suited to sturdy, breathable fabrics and tough leathers, which allowed me maneuverability and protection in my weaker areas. Unlike those who fought with swords or polearms, who depended on plate and mail to protect them from enemy blows, I wasn’t meant to stay in one place long enough to take a real beating. Estinien had tried to talk me into donning the armor of a dragoon once more, but in the end I had chosen to stick with the familiar.

Thankfully, that meant I had very few buckles to worry about; more straps and buttons than anything, which Tataru and I made quick work of, while Jainette held a basket at the ready.

My gloves came off first and Jainette murmured softly at the sight of my bare hands. The leather had almost entirely protected the skin underneath, leaving pristine, tanned skin in stark contrast the blood, dirt, and what have you covering the rest. My belts went next, along with my weapons, all of which Tataru carried back into the bedroom.

Then went my jacket and Tararu helped undo the buttons which were almost too small for my fingers. Now that it was off, I could see just how much of a beating it had taken between Nidhogg and the fighters in the streets. It would need serious repairs if it was to ever be worn again.

“This is quite unorthodox,” Tataru muttered while fiddling with laces on my boots. “Where did you get these?”

“Moogles.”  
  
Tataru stopped dead.

Clever little bastards, those moogles. As thanks for my assistance in some local matters, they’d fashioned new gear for me made of green, white, and brown fabrics which were strangely comfortable, and even came with a vest of white leather to protect my torso, and everything fit nearly perfectly! And they did it from merely observing me and my fighting style. I didn’t see a single tape measure, rod, or string the whole time. …Although, there was that one moogle who decided to hold up a kupo nut to my breasts for a size comparison…which, come to think of it, might have actually been one of their methods of measurement. Hmm.

“Moogles,” Tataru repeated, nonplussed.

I hummed in agreement and eased off my undershirt. Jainette let out a soft noise of sympathy. I may have managed to avoid the worst of Nidhogg’s attacks, namely his flames and claws, but he’d still managed to batter me pretty good. My crystals of light dealt with the worst of the pain and would’ve started repairing the damage immediately but ever since Midgardsormr had cut me off a few moons before, the process had been…slow. With only half my crystals returned to me, I still wasn’t healing as fast as I’d become used to, and with all the strain and activity of the day, my body hadn’t had a chance to just…relax and mend yet.

 _Sure would be **nice** to have all hands on deck, _I thought again, bitterly.

Oh, and that wasn’t even taking into account the blows I’d received in the last few hours amongst the rioters.

“I—Should I call a chirurgeon? A healer?” the maid fretted, prompting Tataru to have a look at my torso and she, too, winced.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” I reassured her. “I heal fast.”

“A salve, then,” she decided, and I did not object. It wouldn’t hurt and she would at least feel as if she’d been able to help.

We got my boots and trousers off and the two layers had done wonders to protect my legs and feet from any scratches or burns. I’d only managed a few bruises here and there but, really, they were manageable, and I reassured them of that before slipping behind the privacy screen to remove my underthings. Then I gingerly climbed into the tub.

The hot water felt divine and I slid in all the way to my nose. I could feel my muscles finally relaxing and if I wasn’t careful, I’d probably fall asleep. Of course, the thought of a warm, soft mattress was plenty motivation to hurry up and wash. My hair was a hopeless case but I’d worry about thoroughly washing and detangling it in the morning. For now, all I needed to do was the grime off my skin so I wouldn’t be sleeping in my own filth.

Both Tataru and Jainette left sometime during my washing but thankfully the latter had left a few towels hanging over the privacy screen for me. The air, which had been warm before, was just chilly enough now to cause goosebumps to prickle along my skin when I emerged from the water. I made short work of drying my body then draped a towel over my shoulders to catch the water from my hair and went to dig out my nightclothes.

I was only just finished dressing when there was a knock at my door. “Come in!” I called.

A moment passed, then the door eased open to reveal not the maid I’d been expecting but—

“Haurchefant?”

His relief was almost palpable and the way he smiled caused my chest to tighten. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair and neck were wet like he’d just showered. He carried a platter of soup, a steaming mug, and what looked like medical supplies.

I stepped aside to allow him entrance and closed the door behind him. He set the tray down on the nearest flat surface then turned to me, eyes bright, and held out his arms. I rushed into them without a thought.

My poor bruised torso did not like the new pressure one bit but I couldn’t have cared less. Welcomed it, even, because he was here, he was safe, _we_ were safe and together, and he was holding me again. He pressed his face into my neck and just breathed…only to jerk back a split second later as if I’d burned him and withdraw completely.

“Oh, forgive—you are hurt!”  
  
“No, no,” I assured him, shaking my head. “You’re fine, it’s fine, you’re not hurting me. It’s alright.”

I reached for him again, sliding my arms around his middle, and after a moment, he carefully placed his hands on my shoulders. “I was searching all over for you, for a full bell at least—”

“I’m sorry.”

“—and returned to the manor in hopes of receiving further information—only to learn that you had simply wandered in on your own a short time ago, looking altogether worse for the wear, but alive and by all accounts, _victorious_.”

“If I’d known you were in the city—”

He shook his head. “Nay, you have naught to apologize for. If all accounts are true, you have earned the right to forgo apologies for…oh, a moon at least.”

I lifted my hand to his cheek and cocked my head. “Only one moon?” 

“Perhaps two or three.” Haurchefant’s smile returned, broader, eyes crinkling, and if they seemed a bit misty, well who could blame him.

“Four.”

“Alright four.” He covered my hand on his cheek with his own and his other slid along my arm, pulling it out from behind him, and held both my hands in front of him. “My hero,” he murmured, all traces of amusement gone from his voice, and he lowered his head to kiss the back of my hands. First one, slow, gentle, then the other. 

Funny, I didn’t feel much like a hero. After all I’d learned and seen, I felt more like a mercy executioner.

He slid his hands beneath mine and pressed a kiss to the base of my fingers, then the middles, soft and lingering, taking care to give both hands the same attention. Then I felt something wet hit the back of my hand.

“Haurchefant,” I murmured. He lifted his head and…oh. “Don’t cry…”

“I am not sad, my dear. I am happy. Joyous even!” And to prove it, he gave me a smile so bright and full of warmth that I couldn’t not smile in return. “For a thousand years my people have fought and died in a war with no end. For a thousand years, our mightiest warriors have tried and failed to do what you have done. Men and women dedicated their whole lives to ending Nidhogg and every last one of them failed. For all we have prayed and fought and hoped, I do not believe any of us ever believed the war could truly end within our lifetimes. But now you…” He paused, lifting his hand to wipe the fresh tears from his eyes, then took my hand again. “From the moment I met you, you have done nothing but help us when by rights you should have hated us. You had tasted the bitterness of Ishgard long before you came to my door and you ought to have let it settle in your mind, fester, and think of us as everyone else does…but you did not. You helped us. You saved my dear friend and his entire house—and then you saved countless others! Again and again at great personal risk…simply because you could. And now you’ve—you’ve slain our greatest enemy.”

Haurchefant smiled again. “All those who have died, all those who failed, now, because of you, none of it was in vain. You have freed us of Nidhogg…and you came home to me.” He squeezed my hands and kissed the backs of them once more. “My beloved Warrior…my hero….”

Fresh tears dripped against my hands.“Stop it,” I chided. “Or you’re gonna make me cry, too.”

He laughed softly and I rested my forehead against the crown of his.

We lingered like that for a short time, his fingers stroking back and forth along mine while he slowly got control of himself. Then he mumbled something inaudibly and slowly lifted his head, giving me time to lean away.

“Your hands…” he murmured, holding them lightly now in his palms so he could look at them.

The dirt and grim was gone but now I could see tiny cuts and welts here and there.

“I might’ve had to knock away few spears…and swords…and a shield…”

Haurchefant blinked at me.

“They were mostly meant for Ysayle—Lady Iceheart.”

“I—I had heard that you were seen accompanying her, protecting her, even…. But why?”

“Because…she’s the one who led us through Dravania. She introduced us to Hraesvelgr. We never would’ve even gotten close to Nidhogg’s lair without her. And she came back to Ishgard with us to stop the violence. The attack did not happen on her command and she thought she could reason with them. Estinien and I just kept her alive long enough to do it.”

“And you…trusted her?” He asked, brow furrowed. Of course, he knew only Lady Iceheart, the ruthless, murderous heretic leader who had plagued his people for moons and was prone to manifesting a primal in her own flesh. He did not know Ysayle.

“Well, we did fight a primal together…”

Haurchefant blinked once then stared for a long moment. Processing. I waited. “I want to hear everything,” he finally declared, “but first you must let me see to your wounds.”

“Really, there’s nothing to tend to, I only let Jainette fetch some medicine ‘cos it—”

He let go of my hands and they dropped to my sides. “Humor me,” he said flatly then picked up the forgotten platter of food and supplies.

He carried it over to my bed and I followed obediently. He set it down on the small bedside table, motioning to the bed with one hand, and lighting the small lamp there with the other. I sat down, eyeing the bowl of soup hungrily. He did not notice and busied himself with the jar of salve, bits of cotton, and strips of cloth the maid had sent.

Too late, I realized what him seeing to my wounds would entail. “I really don’t need any of that,” I tried to reassure him. “I’ll be fine soon.”

“Did we not just agree that I am permitted to fuss over you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Where are you hurt?”

“It’s…a…um.” I swallowed nervously, hunching my shoulders, and felt my cheeks flush. Well, I couldn’t exactly lie to him, now could I? “Under my shirt. The worst of it.”

I glanced at him. His expression did not change. Not even the slightest hint of suggestion or otherwise. I reached for the bottom of my shirt and he simply watched.

“C-could you at least look away or something?” I stammered.

Haurchefant startled a bit and spun around on his heel. “Oh, yes, of course. Apologies.”

I frowned skeptically at his back for a moment then carefully pulled my shirt over my head and pressed it to my chest to preserve some modesty. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Haurchefant seeing me, but…not tonight. I wasn’t ready or able to deal with whatever emotions or words would come with him seeing me naked. Or half naked, I suppose.

“Okay,” I mumbled. “You can look.”

He was slow to turn around this time, as if scared he would frighten me or something. For all his talk before, he was…surprisingly courteous. Twice now he has seen me in a state of undress while injured and twice now he has been nothing but respectful of me. For all his insinuations, suggestive looks, and invitations, all the rumors which painted him as a flirt on par with Thancred, he had never been anything but a complete gentleman towards me when it got right down to it.

Maybe that’s why I fell for him.

I scooted further onto the bed with one hand, the other holding my shirt to my chest, and pulled my legs up, turning so he could have a look at my back. He made a soft sound not unlike the one Jainette had made before. I wondered how bad it looked…and how bad it must have been before my crystals of light had had time to work on me. Or maybe it was the combination of my fresh wounds and older scars which affected him so.

Haurchefant cleared his throat softly and I heard him messing with something on the tray, then something cool and moist pressed against my back. A sharp pain flared at the point of contact and I flinched. He murmured an apology and gingerly dabbed at the area with more of the medicine.

“You really don’t need to worry,” I told him quietly because I could practically feel him doing just that. “I’ll be better by sun down tomorrow.” 

“Perhaps if you underwent strenuous healing,” he retorted. “It’ll take weeks for this to clear up.”

“Is it bruised that badly?”

“It’s a miracle you were able to walk and fight. What happened?”

I thought about it. “I…might have…gotten knocked into a pillar? Twice?”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “You are going to give me grey hairs.”

“…But isn’t your hair already—”

“M-my lady, my hair is _silver_ , not grey.”

“Sure, sure.”

Haurchefant sighed again and began dabbing at a new area of my back. This one barely hurt at all compared to the last. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, the only sounds in the room the crackling of the fire and faint, intermittent shouts just barely audible through the window. He continued to carefully apply the salve to my back and the air around us gradually filled with a strong scent that I could only describe as _medicine._ It was enough to keep me from nodding off despite the exhaustion which once again weighed heavily on my body.

And then my stomach rumbled. Loudly. Very, very loudly. And _gods_ would that I had let Nidhogg end me while I had the chance.

Haurchefant chuckled and withdrew. “Forgive me, in my haste to tend to you, it appears I forgot your soup.”

He sat down on the bed next to me with the bowl in his hands and held it out to me. It was small, barely enough to be considered a serving, but a hearty meal wasn’t good before bed, so I supposed I couldn’t complain. There was just one problem.

“Are you finished? Can I put my shirt back on now?”

“O-oh, well, not entirely but—I suppose yes.” He stood quickly and turned his back to me. I slipped my shirt on and carefully eased the material down my back so it wouldn’t get stuck on the salve. “Decent?” he asked. “Good. Here you are then.”

I turned around on the bed, so my legs could hang over the side and accepted the bowl gratefully. Hauchefant sat beside me once more and watched silently while I spooned small bites of the soup, which was little more than broth with potatoes, into my mouth. Bland, but better than nothing. They’d stuff me full tomorrow, anyway.

Exhaustion pulled at me once more. I eyed the warm drink still waiting on the platter then decided against it and leaned against Haurchefant again. He slid his arm around my waist with care and rested his head atop mine.

“Thank you,” Haurchefant murmured. He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask.

“Will you stay?” I whispered instead. “I feel better with you around.”

“Would that I could, but I must return to Dragonhead as soon as possible. I should have already returned but I could not leave without seeing you hale and whole.” He rubbed his hand along my arm for a moment, gave me a squeeze, then withdrew. I lifted my head, only for my forehead to connect with his waiting lips. They lingered against my skin and his hand cupped the back of my head, fingertips stroking lightly. “I will return here on the morrow,” he murmured into my hair, “we can talk more then. I still want to hear everything.”

And…I wanted him to know everything.

“Alright,” I agreed, looking down at my soup in contemplation. “I’m finished.”

“Then it is time for you to sleep,” he announced and took the bowl from my hands and returned it to the tray.

_Yeeeessss. Sleeeeeeep._

I slid off the bed, intending to pull the covers back myself, but he beat me to it, and when I laid down on my side, he pulled them over me and tucked me in. I grinned at him as he did but all he did was smile pleasantly at me like there was nothing out of the ordinary here. …It was nice, being fussed over by him. He walked around the room extinguishing each of the lamps and I watched him with my head propped up on my arm. He was so handsome and the changing lighting only served to emphasize the pleasing shape of his body. In the dim glow from the fireplace, his silvery hair appeared a peculiar shade of bright orange. An odd contrast to the heady shade of red mine always turned in similar lighting. We were a strange pair, the both of us, like ice and earth, and yet we worked. We fit. And he was my choice and mine alone.

“Please stay?” I repeated as he neared my bedside. Haurchefant laughed once under his breath, shoulders twitching, and extinguished the final lamp on the table. He knelt beside my bed, exhaling through his nose, and gently cupped my cheek.

“Until you fall asleep,” he murmured in reply then began to stroke my cheek with his thumb.

“Thank you.”

What had I done to deserve him? I may never know.

In a distant corner of my mind, I knew all was not well between us. We still had a lot of baggage to unpack and the last month had left something between us which would need to be addressed and sorted before we could feasibly move on together. But I wasn’t going to worry about it yet. I was safe in his family home, resting on one of the most comfortable mattresses I’d ever felt in my life, with a warm fire, protectors on all side, no looming threats, and a man who might very well be the love of my life doing is best to lull me to sleep. 

And it was the best sleep I’d had in weeks.

Then the gunshots went off.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your words are heresy, child.”

When the sound of gunfire penetrated my sleep, I woke with a start, completely convinced I was in the middle of a Garlean invasion. I raced to the window and threw open the drapes, fully expecting to see warships and magiteck—instead there was a party. People milled about in the plaza below the manor, talking, laughing, _oohing_ and _aahing_ at the blobs of colorful powder that a group of machinists were firing into the air like fireworks. All the doors were open and people walked in and out of them freely. There were tables set up with food and drinks. Most of the people below seemed to be highborn but I spotted one or two more plainly dressed individuals milling about in there, too. All of them just together. Celebrating.

Oh, right. I’d killed Nidhogg and helped stop a heretic invasion yesterday.

Today was probably gonna suck for me.

With a groan, I leaned my head against the window, ignoring the sharp cold from the glass. I had a lot of explaining to do and I needed to wash my hair at least three more times. From the position of the sun, I guessed it was somewhere around noon, maybe later, which meant I didn’t have to worry about delaying a meal or anything and could take my time.

And take my time I did.

I drew another bath for myself, dumped in some pleasantly-scented oils because I could, and checked the state of myself in the mirror while the tub filled. The bruising had faded drastically overnight. Ah, it was nice to have another sliver of my power returned to me…and maybe the medicine Haurchefant had given me actually did help.

I paused as more of last night came back to me. I’d taken my shirt off. In front of Haurchefant. And he’d—

I inhaled deeply through my nose. Held it. Exhaled.

Alright. So.

Haurchefant had seen me half naked less than twenty-four hours after we decided to have some manner of romantic relationship which may or may not be illicit in the near future. I mean, sure, it was only my back, and he’d seen me wearing less than modest clothing in the past…and showing off one’s entire back and shoulders was hardly scandalous for a woman back home…common place in the summer…. Eorzean women, on the other hand, well, so much as showing your shoulders could get you branded a harlot in some places. Ishgard especially.

Even if it was for medical purposes, he wasn’t a healer, he was a knight and a lord and I was a young woman and we definitely had feelings for each other. Alphinaud would have a conniption if he found out. Which he wasn’t going to. Ever.

Oh god but Jainette knew where all my bruising was, she’d seen it, and she was the one to give him the medicine, which meant _she_ knew he must’ve seen me partially undressed. Did maids gossip? Oh, what was I talking about, of course maids gossiped! It was a fact of life: you want to know something about rich people? Ask the help.

Fuck.

I forced another deep breath and told myself that I was getting worked up over nothing. He had been nothing but courteous to me last night and, chirurgeon or no, the situation had been about healing. I was naught but a patient…who he happened to care strongly for. And Jainette, she seemed kind. Mayhap she would keep it to herself. And even if she didn’t, if there was one thing that I had learned here, was that those of House Fortemps were loyal to their own and almost all of the elder staff members had been here for twenty, thirty, even forty years. They’d watched Haurchefant grow up and all of them adored him. They would never do anything to hurt him.

But all the house staff knew by now…which meant Emmanellain would know by sundown. If he didn’t already.

Fuck.

I wondered if I could convince Hraesvelgr to kill me quietly if I went back right now….

 _No, no, this is fine._ I told myself. _Honoroit will keep him in line._

And, well, I could always talk to Haurchefant if I felt weird about things later. He would listen and reassure me, try to make light of the situation to make me smile, and we would carry on.

Satisfied with myself for now, I climbed into the tub to deal with my hair. 

Half an hour later, my hair was thoroughly washed and detangled and I was dressed in one of the simple dresses provided to me when I’d arrived at the manor. Midnight blue with gold embroidery along the hems and a sash around the waist, long-sleeved, modest, and extremely comfortable. Nicer than most of the clothes I’d worn in my life, too. I hoped Aymeric wouldn’t mind if I came without armor on, but it’d been weeks since I’d worn anything but…and, y’know, I’d killed Nidhogg. No one could really say anything to me after that. I slid on a pair of boots, grabbed one of the nice cloaks I’d been given, and headed out locate the count. 

I found him rather quickly, sitting in the solar with the head steward and his eldest son. Artoirel noticed me first and his expression brightened in a way that reminded me of Haurchefant. “Warrior of Light,” he greeted, rising to his feet, and bowed. The other men followed suit.

“Good morning!” Edmont all but crowed. “Or should I say afternoon! I trust you slept well?”

I nodded. “I feel much better.”

“Full glad am I to hear it,” he replied. “Your wounds are healing as well?”

“Aye, though they weren’t bad to begin with. Thank you,” I added because it seemed the polite thing to do. “I, um…There’s a bit of a party going on outside my window.”

“The news of Nidhogg’s demise spread like wildfire,” Artoirel explained. “The losses we incurred last night seem of little consequence in comparison. My brother is out amongst the revelry, of course, and he tells us that the entire city has taken to the streets! From the Pillars to the Brume, all are out in celebration. There are even places where highborn mingle freely with the low, sharing food and drink as if they were lifelong friends. ‘Tis nothing short of a miracle.”

Despite what I now knew of the war, pride swelled within me. I’d given them this.

“And half the city has been on our doorstep seeking audience with you since dawn,” Edmont said with a grimace. “I would not be surprised if only propriety and our guards have kept people from storming the manor. However, for though all are jubilant at the demise of our foe, your defense of Iceheart last night did not go unnoticed. There is a chance, however small, that some individuals may resent you for it and attempt to do you harm. For your own safety, I think it best you remain here.”

I shook my head. “I must speak with Ser Aymeric about all that we have learned. I was going to ask if you and Haurchefant might accompany me to the Congregation.”

Edmont cocked his head. “Learned?”

I glanced around the room nervously. “It’s not something I should talk about openly. Not yet.”

“We are alone,” Artoirel pointed out but I shook my head. There was no point in repeating myself.

Edmont stared at me for a long moment, considering. “Very well. I shall send for Ser Aymeric.”  
  
“And Estinien.”

“And Estinien. In the meantime, I suggest you avail yourself of our kitchens…and perhaps pay my son a visit. He was in the dining room last I saw, fretting over your missed meals.”

“Haurchefant’s here?”

“Indeed. He arrived this morning.”

“What about Alphinaud and Tataru?”

“While I cannot speak for Master Alphinaud, Miss Tataru is out enjoying the festivities,” the steward answered.

“Acquiring information?” I guessed shrewdly. He smiled. Good ol’ Tataru.

We exchanged a few more words then I went to return my cloak to my room and set out to find Haurchefant.

He was exactly where his father had said he’d be, seated in the lord’s chair at the head of the table with a bit of paperwork in front of him. I smiled to myself. Same scene, different stage. His back was to the door and I could not resist sneaking up behind him, my feet as quiet as a cat’s on the carpet, and just as I came close enough to strike… I blew small stream of air against the back of his neck.

He jumped several ilms out of his chair with an undignified yelp. I laughed out loud. He twisted around in his chair, a demand on his lips and bewilderment in his eyes, and both melted away when he realized it was me. He let out a puff of air that was almost a laugh and shook his head at me.

“Would a simple hello have not sufficed?” he asked, and I laughed. He shook his headi again, affectionately this time, and stood up, opening his arms in invitation. I closed the distance between us eagerly and he wrapped his arms around me, taking care not to squeeze too hard. I smiled into his shoulder.

“I’m nearly better, don’t worry.”

“I will always worry about you, my dear. I have come to accept it. And that I shall be entirely grey by the time I am my father’s age.”

“You already _are_ —”

“Ah, ah, ah, no, I have _silver_ hair. There is a difference,” he said matter-of-factly, and I grinned. “Are you hungry?” I nodded. “Splendid! I requested a meal be set aside for when you awoke, it should be ready for you.”

He stepped away from me and pulled out the chair to the right of his for me. I took my seat, let him push in my chair, and waited while he disappeared through the door that lead to the kitchens. He returned a minute or so later with a tea set on a platter and one of the kitchen staff followed behind with another platter, this one containing my lunch. He set the tray in front of me, bowed politely, and retreated to the kitchens.

Haurchefant placed the tea platter on the table between us then began to stack the papers he’d been working on, presumably to join me.

My lunch was a simple sandwich with meat, vegetables, and sauces I did not recognize but tasted delightful on my tongue, plus an apple and a small plate of cheese cubes. Better than anything I’d had on the road but standard fare here at the manor. I could spend the rest of my life here just for the food. And the bath tub. And the bed. And the eye candy. Aah, they were spoiling me, these highborn.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Haurchefant asked, pouring tea into the cups.

“Loads better,” I replied through the food in my mouth. He paused and quirked one eyebrow at me. Right, manners. I finished chewing and swallowing my food then went on. “The bruising is mostly gone and that was the best I’ve slept in ages. And you?”  
  
“ _I_ did not fight a dragon yesterday,” he reminded me lightly and dropped three cubes of sugar into what I assumed was my cup. “But I, too, am recovered from last night’s excitement. There is a celebration taking place in Dragonhead right now…but I felt my time better spent here.” He smiled at me. “I would offer to escort you through some of the city’s festivities, but I have been told such activities would be unwise.”

“Yeah, your father is having Ser Aymeric and Estinien summoned here so we can talk.” I paused, a cube of cheese halfway to my mouth, and frowned. “Do you really think someone would try and stab me today?”

Haurchefant grimaced. “I do not know. I would like to think not…but there are those who are quite zealous in their faith and with no public statement regarding the nature of your involvement with Lady Iceheart as of yet, all are subject to naught more than rumors of what passed.” He cocked his head to the side. “Which reminds me…did you truly—” he glanced up, as if trying to recall what he’d heard “—appear mid-air over a knight and fall on him before he could attack Iceheart?”

He held the teacup out to me and I accepted it with a slight grimace. “Technically, I was lunging at him, but yes. And, hey, Estinien dropped out of the sky ten seconds before with his lance and broke the street for her. I don’t see how what I did is even half as scandalous.”

“Oh, ‘tis not. I just find the whole thing rather amusing.”

I smiled into my teacup.

Haurchefant sank back into the chair he’d been occupying earlier and sipped at his tea, watching me. All too aware of his gaze, I spent perhaps a bit longer than necessary choosing from the selection of cheese cubes on my plate, but when I lifted one to my lips and glanced at him once more, he was staring down into his teacup with a look of discomfort.

“I…” He cleared his throat and I set the cheese cube back down. “Forgive me for my forwardness but…on the subject of last night…. It occurred to me, rather belatedly I am afraid, that my behavior bordered on inappropriate. If I overstepped in any way—”

I shook my head and reaching for his hand across the table. “No, of course not.”

Discomfort turned to worry as he glanced between my hand and face. “You are…certain? I was—well, you did try to say no several times, but I rather insisted—”

I shook my head again. Jeez, I hadn’t expected him to fret over it like this. I thought _he’d_ be the one reassuring me! “Stop,” I ordered gently. “Honestly, do you really think you could make me do something I didn’t want to?”  
  
“I…um…”

“You wanted to help me. You _did_ help me. I’m the one who let you in, I’m the one who let you stay. Last night was…new territory, a-and okay, unexpected, and um, a bit flustering, but not unwelcome.”

Haurchefant took a deep breath and then smiled as he exhaled. “Alright. I am glad to know I did not give you further reason to doubt my character.”

“You’re one of the only people who’ve I’ve ever let that close. That ought to give you an idea of how I perceive your character.”

* * *

 

It took nearly an hour for Ser Aymeric and Estinien to show up, and they brought Lucia with them. Not that I recognized any of them right away, except Estinien. When the steward led them into the solar where we waited, for at least five full seconds I wondered why Estinien brought strangers with him to a sensitive meeting. In my defense, I’d never seen either of them without their armor, on and seven _hells_ what a difference it made.

Aymeric was svelte under all the pomp and circumstance. I’d figured he must have a lean body, but this was ridiculous. How did he even lift that bloody sword of his? And as for Lucia, well, she had the build of a warrior woman, but she was not nearly as stocky as I’d thought she’d be. At least Estinien was just about as buff outside his armor as he was in it. They were all dressed like commoners, I couldn’t see a single weapon on any of them, and apparently, they’d come in through the servants’ entrance. Bizarre, the lot of it.

“Well, you all look rather…” Alphinaud trailed off pointedly as they neared the sofas where he, Edmont, Artoirel, Haurchefant, and I waited.

Ser Aymeric smiled shrewdly. “I thought it best that the three of us were not seen entering the manor given the nature of what we are to discuss.”

“And what is it that we are to discuss?” Edmont asked, clearing unwilling to be left out, which was fine. That which needed said was best heard by his ears before those of the others in his position.

“Nothing less, my lord, than the history of Ishgard,” Estinien replied. “And its future.”

The Count stared at him for a moment with an unreadable expression. “Then might I suggest we convene here? ’Tis far less likely that we will be overheard.”

“An excellent suggestion, my lord, thank you.” Aymeric said and then looked at Haurchefant, who sat silently at my side, and his brow furrowed. I knew what he was going to say before he said it, and I cut him off just as his mouth opened.

“He stays,” I said firmly. “I’m just gonna tell him everything later anyway. Might as well save me the trouble.”

He was surprised by my bluntness, that much was evident, and he must’ve heard the resolve in my tone, for he did not object. Nor did he try to suggest Artoirel leave, either. All present had a reason to hear what we had to say, Artoirel included, for he would soon inherit the burdens of his father. We took our seats by the fire, and the head steward took a post outside the door to ensure no one would overhear.

Alphinaud began the story by revealing the truth of our original mission, which only those who’d participated had been aware of. Aymeric was bewildered—the realization he had ‘championed’ an unofficial entreaty with dragons coming as quite the shock. Lucia’s reaction was hard to gauge but I thought I could detect a hint of approval in her otherwise neutral mask. Edmont and Artoirel wore equal expressions of shock. Haurchefant, on the other hand, had already dealt with his surprise last night and now listened raptly. Alphinaud gave them sparse details of the journey, though he went into a little more detail on the subject of the Gnath, Vath, and Ravana, as well as our deal with Vidofnir and Ysayle’s part in slaying the primal.

“A moment.” Aymeric held up his hand. “Why did Ysayle accompany you to the primal and not Estinien?”

“Wherefore would I go to fight a primal?” Estinien asked as if he were stupid.

“Wherefore would Lady Iceheart?”

Alphinaud cleared his throat awkwardly. “Ah. I suppose I did forget to mention that part. Ysayle is a Walker of the Path.”

Six pairs of eyes stared uncomprehendingly.

“She’s one of Hydaelyn’s chosen,” I explained, shocking everyone but Estinien and Alphinaud. “She has the Echo, too.”

“Though not nearly as powerful as Rain,” Alphinaud added hastily at the horrified looks on the Ishgardian’s faces. “But she is, nevertheless, immune to primal influence and therefor was a suitable candidate for providing support. However, her method of doing so was wholly unexpected: she used the Gnath’s supply of crystals, intended for their own god, to summon Shiva once more.”

This time, nearly everybody gasped.

“You did not tell me this.” Haurchefant said, frowning at me.

I shrugged. “It wasn’t important at the time. Anyway, we won and walked away with naught more than some bumps and bruises. And impressed Vidofnir.”

“Indeed,” Alphinaud agreed. “If you wish to sue for peace between your peoples, Vidofnir would be a good place to start.”

“I shall take that into consideration,” Ser Aymeric said. “Continue.”

Alphinaud told them of our eventful climb of Sohm Al, which culminated in the death of Tioman. He mostly glossed over the details about the moogles and our hike across the floating ruins, until he came to our audience with Hraesvelgr. Then he paused and looked at me meaningfully. Then everyone else did, too.

Sighing inwardly, I folded my hands in my lap, and began to recount the story of Ishgard’s true history, along with the flashes of memory I had glimpsed while the wyrm spoke. I told them of the territory dispute between the dragons and invading elezen; of Shiva, the white-haired maiden who had dared defy the will of her people and reach out to the dragons, and who had eventually come to love one of them as if he were a man. How their story ended and what came after.

“Peace,” I said softly, looking at each Ishgardian individually. “Betwixt man and dragon. And not just peace—coexistence. They lived together in harmony for nearly two hundred years. Do you understand? Entire generations of your ancestors lived and died with the dragons of the day, all of them revering and respecting Shiva for her sacrifice, and the love she and Hraesvelgr shared.”

“Your words are heresy, child,” Edmont said gravely.

“Aye, that they are, my lord, but they are true.” Estinien replied. “The ruins of this society still exist just beyond the Chocobo Forest and in the Churning Mists. Buildings and structures built by men, inhabited by dragonkind who lack wherewithal to maintain them, never mind build them.”

“Besides, even if I hadn’t seen things, I would have believed him. He was telling us why he would not help us appease Nidhogg, and why even trying was futile. What reason would he have to lie?”

No one had an answer for that.

“But there’s more.” I licked my lips and glanced at the now confused Alphinaud. “After Nidhogg was slain…I saw what happened a thousand years ago on the day Thordan and his knights fought Nidhogg.”

Edmont and Haurchefant sat up straighter, Artoirel leaned closer, and Ser Aymeric folded his arms. Livia, once again, did not react beyond arching one eyebrow.

I recounted what I heard and saw in my vision in as much detail as possible, reciting word for word what I could recall, of the fateful minutes where Ishgard’s fate and faith for the next thousand years was sealed. No one uttered so much as a peep the whole time, though I could see varying degrees of incredulity and dismay on all their faces. Even Alphinaud seemed troubled. Estinien took over afterwards and explained the situation surrounding the Eyes, and that one was still entirely unaccounted for.

“’Tis my suspicion that it remains in the possession of the Holy See to this day, though how, where, and why, I cannot say.”

It was quiet after that for several long moments while everyone processed the entirety of what they’d been told…and the ramifications. I wondered who would break first. Ser Aymeric? Edmont? Artoirel, perhaps.

It was none of them.

“T’would seem that our history is unlike that depicted in the scriptures.” Haurchefant mused with a hint of resignation in his tone. Edmont looked at him sharply.

“You believe this, son?”

Haurchefant’s answering shrug was almost helpless. “I must. I know, perhaps more than any of you, save Master Alphinaud of course—” he gave the boy a small smile “—the veracity of Rain’s visions. A dragon may lie as certainly as a man can, but the past is what it is, and glimpses of it through the Echo must be taken as irrefutable fact.”

Edmont still did not seem wholly convinced and I decided to take a risk.

“My lord, have you never wondered why people become heretics?” I asked. “Why their movement has persisted over a thousand years?”

“I—well, I suppose I have, yes.”

“You are quite fortunate to have been brought up among the comforts of nobility. You directly benefit from your society being the way it is. So, I don’t think it’s within your power to find the answer on your own. So, imagine if your life were the opposite. Imagine if you had grown up in the lower levels of the city, the Brume even, or out in Coerthas. Imagine if your life had been spent working day in and day out to survive, serving the high houses, sending your children off to die for them, with no hope of your circumstances ever improving.” I paused and was pleased to note that I had his and Artoirel’s full attention, and that Ser Aymeric had a small smile on his face. “Now imagine you found out that everything you ever knew was a lie. That you’d lost family in a war of your own making, that those above you had no right to be there that you didn’t, and that the Holy See was built upon corruption and lies. …Would it be all that difficult to turn your back on Ishgard?”

“…Your point is…well-articulated,” Edmont replied slowly. “And I understand your reasoning, to an extent.”

“You must admit, father, that it would explain quite a lot,” Artroirel murmured to him. “Many heretics I have detained and questioned have alluded to such things.”

“Yes, but how? What evidence do _they_ possess with which they can sway so many others?”

“Dragon’s blood,” Alphinaud said simply. Both adults looked at him. “We have seen heretics turn into dragons before our very eyes. An act which, if I am not mistaken, is not unknown to the Holy See but kept hidden from the general public.”

Beside me, Haurchefant tensed, no doubt recalling the woman-turned-dragon whose death they’d been forced to cover up at the command of the Inquisitor.

“It is true,” Ser Aymeric said with a resigned sigh. “I confess I did know of such tactics—I would be a very poor high commander if I did not—though their methods have never been known to me. You say dragon’s blood?”

Alphinaud nodded. “As we said, when King Thordan and his knights twelve slew Ratatoskr, they…feasted on her eyes to gain her power, but in doing so, they changed their very essences, which they passed on to their children, and they to their children, on and on, to the present. The essence of Ratatoskr lives on in every man, woman, and child of their bloodlines. But a single drop of dragon’s blood is required to confirm their lineage and then they would become dragonkind themselves.”

“If this is true,” Edmont interjected quickly, “if _all_ Isghardians are descended of King Thordan, then the right upon which the rule of the High Houses rests…is moot. People may question the legitimacy of our rule.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Aymeric replied, stony-faced, and folded his arms. “If the Holy See knew of this and chose to remain silent, then their crimes are grievous indeed.”

“ _If_ ,” Estinien muttered.

“Nevertheless, this state of affairs cannot be allowed to continue.”

A beat.

My eyes widened. Everyone glanced at each other around the couches and on everyone’s face I saw the same bafflement.

It was Edmont who responded first, his tone as sharp as the talons of a dragon. “Ser Aymeric, you cannot mean to raise this matter with the archbishop?!” It didn’t really sound like a question.

Ser Aymeric narrowed his eyes and dipped his head. “I do.”

“Pray consider what you are proposing!” Haurchefant interjected. “If the Holy See chose to conceal the truth for centuries, what reason would they have to reveal it now?!”

“At best, you will be branded a heretic and clapped in irons!” Alphinaud added.

I nodded, feeling more exasperated than anything. “At worst, we’ll never find your body!”

Aymeric, however, did not seem to care. “Then at least the archbishop will have shown his true colors. My friends, this war will never truly be at an end until the truth is made known! You _must_ see what lies on the horizon if it is not. When ruled by fear of a common enemy, we were united.” He looked around at us all. “But now we have none. During the war, the highborn needed men to lead, and the lowborn, men to follow. Not anymore. ‘Tis but a matter of time before the old order is called into question. Lady Iceheart will share the truth…as will the Warrior of Light, I suspect.” He gave me a shrewd look and I met his gaze evenly. “The Holy See will be powerless to stop its spread. The disenfranchised will rise up, united, and blood will flow in the streets once more.”

And Haurchefant will almost certainly be caught up in it. My own blood felt cold in that moment and I glanced at him to see my dismay reflected in his own expression.

Ser Aymeric was right, that chain of events could never be allowed to unfold. All of Ishgard would suffer further. Entire bloodlines stretching back centuries could be completely wiped out. Knowledge would be forever lost. Their culture would stagnate even further. Ishgard would be so busy fighting itself that they would not see the Garleans coming until it was too late. Like Ala Mhigo, they would fall in the wake of their own supposed victory.

Evidently satisfied with his own logic, Ser Aymeric made to stand and I leaped from my position on the couch across from him, placing myself squarely between him and the door.

“Don’t _even_ think about it,” I growled.

He frowned at me. “A divided Ishgard will not survive. You must see this.”

“And neither will you if you do this!” I curled my hands into fists. “Ishgard needs you to continue leading her army because before all that civil nonsense can even begin, you’re still gonna have to deal with Nidhogg’s brood coming to avenge him or complete his work.”

That gave him a pause. I don’t think any of them had considered that Nidhogg’s brood might still crave blood and vengeance. Though all had been compelled by their sire to fight, not all will have wanted to do so. There would be some amongst his brood who craved peace as much as the Ishgardians, those who would happily leave violence behind and adopt the lifestyles of their cousins. But not all of them. The horde might even see a new leader rise in their sire’s place.

I took a step towards Aymeric. “You’re not a fool, Aymeric.”

“No, but this cannot be allowed to stand any longer,” he retorted, “and the sooner I attempt to bring these truths to light, the better.”

“Have you gone mad?” Alphinaud demanded.

“Alright,” I said, “if you want to throw your life away like an idiot martyr without any concern for the harm you’ll be doing to the people you swore to protect, then fine!” I leaned forward. “But you’re gonna have to go through me first.” Then spread my arms wide in invitation.

“And here we go,” Alphinaud muttered.

Aymeric’s stared, wide-eyed and completely bewildered. “Do you truly intend to physically restrain me?”

“I am armed,” I warned him.

His brow furrowed, and his eyes flicked across my form, trying to discern where I could possibly have a weapon stashed. His eyes lingered unobtrusively on my chest for a moment—good guess, Aymeric, but no—before he gave his head a quick shake, looking pained.

“Nor is she alone.” Lucia declared, speaking for the first time since her arrival, and rose to her feet. Aymeric looked between us almost helplessly as she moved to my side. Then he sighed and dragged his hand across his mouth.

“Then what would you have me do? Inaction is not an option.”

“You can start by not talking to the archbishop,” I said. “Of all the bad ideas I’ve heard lately, that is _the_ worst.”

“And why, pray tell?”

“Apart from the fact he has the authority to have you chucked off a cliff if he doesn’t like what you’re saying? He’s planning something and I don’t trust him. No good person has eyebrows like that.”

A scoff echoed through the room. Alphinaud, probably.

Aymeric rolled his eyes. “That is hardly—”

“Not long before left, I was visited in secret by Ser Zephirin of the Heavensward.”

Stunned silence met my words. I saw Haurchefant lean forward out of the corner of my eye. Another thing I had yet to tell him.

“Zephirin?” Aymeric repeated and the familiarity in his tone surprised me. Seeing this, he went on, “We served together as Temple Knights for many years. He is loyal, just, and courageous most of all, and man for whom I have the highest respect. Why would he come to you in secret?”

“Because he wanted to ask me about primals, specifically about tempering. That’s the, uh, the word for when a primal takes control of a person.” I added for the benefit of those who may not know the terminology. “He wanted to know how tempering worked, how to protect oneself from it, how to save someone who’s been tempered. He insisted it was for the good of Ishgard so I told him what I could but he did not seem…pleased with what I had to tell him.”

“Well, when one looking for hope learns there is none…” Alphinaud muttered.

I nodded, grimacing. “At first it thought it was Bismarck tempering people in the Sea of Clouds but…”

“I can assure you,” Ser Aymeric interjected, “with absolute certainty that no one has been tempered by the Vanu primal thus far. From the reports received from House Haillenarte, no man has even gotten close enough to it. Though you and Alphinaud would be my first choice for aid concerning primals, I fail to see why a secret meeting was necessary to obtain such information. …Unless…”

“Unless he wanted to make sure no one found out?” I suggested. “Or someone _specific_? Like the archbishop? Ser Zephirin was afraid enough of both primal and person that he risked a meeting with me for information on how to protect himself.”

“My lady, be reasonable.” Count Edmont pleaded, rising to his feet. “Think of what you are saying. You would accuse the archbishop of intending to summon a primal but without evidence that he is even capable of such a thing.”

“Not quite,” I replied at once. “The art of summoning isn’t exactly secret, nor is it even particularly difficult, and he all but admitted to me that he knew how to do it. In the face of Nidhogg’s wrath, a deity of equal or greater strength may have seemed the best option. Halone comes to mind.”

“Halone is one of the Twelve, not a primal.” Artoirel objected, seeming offended by the mere notion.

“Actually,” said Alphinaud, “anything could potentially be summoned as a primal, if fueled by enough faith, vision, and crystals. T’was not even a year ago now that Ala Mhigan refugees planned to summon Rhalgr, and only failed because they were slaughtered. Or for a more recent example, Lady Iceheart’s summoning of Saint Shiva. Shiva was but a mortal woman of a bygone age, not a goddess. Yet the heretics were able to conjure a simulacrum of her reflecting their own beliefs and ideals.”

“And you think Halone, too, could be summoned?” Lucia asked seriously.

“After a thousand years of war, I would say Ishgard is positively primed for summoning a primal.” Alphinaud stepped forward. “Do you not all offer her your prayers every day? Prayers for hope, salvation, death upon your enemies?”

The Ishgardians considered this and I saw doubt and distress begin to creep in on their faces. Except Lucia who, surprisingly, merely stared at Alphinaud.

“All it would take is an adequate supply of aether and the knowledge of the rites…and Halone would walk among you, exactly as she is depicted in scripture. She would pass judgement and strike down your enemies on a whim. She would not even need to temper you—but she would. Anyone and everyone she could.”

With that, Alphinaud seemed to be finished. I had nothing to add and, apart from diving into the subject of Ascians, we had nothing else to offer.

“This is dangerous territory,” Artoirel murmured.

“Too dangerous for my liking,” Edmont agreed, looking to Ser Aymeric. It was the Lord Commander’s move now.

He spent the next few moments contemplating in silence, eyes closed and tensed.

“You are not liars, either of you,” Aymeric began slowly. “And you are perhaps the last experts on the subject of primals in the realm. But I cannot accept what you are telling me as truth without evidence. Nevertheless, I believe this matter deserving of attention. Should the archbishop be capable of summoning Halone, if civil war were to break out amongst our people, the results could be catastrophic, and that prospect alone demands that I heed your fears.”

“So, you just want proof?” I checked. I nodded. “Well, then why not just talk to Ser Zephirin?”

“A meeting between a member of the Heavens’ Ward and the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights is not something easily arranged. Were we even to come within a hundred fulms of each other, people would talk. And were we discovered attempting to meet secretly to discuss such a thing, the damage could be irreparable.”

“But not me,” I said. “I still have some anonymity in the city. I could meet with him again. Try to convince him to talk or at the very least wheedle a clue or hint out of him. Could you get a message to him?” I asked Aymeric.

He nodded. “I could but where would this meeting take place.”

“Dragonhead,” Haurchefant suggested at once, as I knew he would, but Aymeric shook his head.

“No, it’s too far away. Too risky.”

“The manor is out of the question,” Edmont added before anyone could say anything.  

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to suggest the manor.” I reassured him. “Aymeric, tell him I wish to meet at the time, place, and manner of our last meeting as soon as possible. He will know exactly what I mean, and it will not seem as if you are privy to information you ought not to be.”

Ser Aymeric took a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment, and he exhaled quietly. “Very well. I shall inform you immediately when I receive a reply. In the meantime, all here are sworn to secrecy. Not a word…or it may well be the noose for us all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohoh it would seem Aymeric didn't get to be a dumbass this time...I wonder where this could be going....


	3. Taking Stock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oookay this story started off PRETTY HEAVY. Let's settle down a bit.

Aymeric, Lucia, and Estinien had barely departed when the solar doors were thrown open by Emmanellain de Fortemps looking like a cat who’d got the cream. Honoroit trailed after him, same as usual, though for once he did not seem flustered. Good news, hopefully. We needed it after the last hour.

“Oh, good, you are all here! I say, the city is positively teeming with revelers! A man cannot go five fulms without being offered a flagon of ale or a sweet cake or some such! And, oh, the dancing, the singing! Oh, speaking of singing, last I saw, Mistress Tataru was leading a crowd outside the Forgotten Knight in raucous song! Truly, I was not aware creatures so small could have voices so strong! Amazing—or how would you put it, dear brother? Splendid!”

Artoirel rolled his eyes but Edmont and Haurchefant seemed amused by the youngest Fortemps’ antics.

Emmanellain spotted me sitting on the other side of Haurchefant and smirked at me. “Oh, and you, old girl, everyone is positively clamoring to meet you! I’ve told them all you are rightfully resting and couldn’t possibly entertain anyone today, never you fear.” He winked at me and I smiled weakly in return. “But!” he crowed and, oooh, I did not like that tone. “That is not going hold them off for long! Already there is talk from Houses Durendaire and Dzemael of banquets being planned in your honor!”

Haurchefant made a soft sound of surprise, which was almost completely drowned out by the strangled noise which escaped my throat.

Banquets. _In my honor._ By other High Houses. I probably had to go. _Banquets_. In a city where some people might want me dead or punished. I had to go. To a _banquet_. Filled with people I wouldn’t know—rich people! I’d have to talk to them and mingle and eat and _drink_ because it was a _banquet_ and it was in my _honor_ and—

“Breathe,” Alphinaud murmured soothing. I inhaled on command and was much, much louder than I’d expected.

“You may as well get used to it, old girl. You are a face in the crowd no longer! Everyone is going to want to talk to you, shake your hand, have you kiss their babes. You might very well be elevated to sainthood for this!”

“Yes, _thank you_ , Em,” Haurchefant interrupted loudly then put his hand over mine in my lap, murmuring, “You need not attend if you do not wish.”

“On the contrary—”

“That is quite enough, Emmanellain,” Edmont barked and his son ducked his head, admonished.

“Pardon me, father, but if the other houses were to host events in her honor, it would reflect poorly on her and on House Fortemps if she failed to attend.”

I hunched my shoulders.

Edmont hummed contemplatively and glanced at me, then Haurchefant, then Emmanellain, then to me again. “I am afraid my son is correct. This is undoubtedly their attempt to bring you into the spotlight, formally introduce you to Ishgard high society, and give them ample time and excuse to speak to you on their terms.”

I sighed, wilting at the prospect. And here I’d thought my days of being paraded around were behind me.

“However! Far be it from me to simply throw you to the wolves. If the other houses are determined to make of you a debutante, then we shall simply have to beat them at their own game.” And for the first time ever, I saw a twinkle of mischief in the eyes of the Count de Fortemps.

“What do you have in mind, father?” Haurchefant asked with interest.

“Why, we shall host our own banquet!” Edmont declared. Across the room, the steward’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Emmanellain gasped. “Tomorrow evening, here at the manor. If you are to be a debutante, then it shall be done on Fortemps’ grounds and on our terms.”

Haurchefant tensed beside me.

I frowned, cocking my head to the side. It didn’t happen often but sometimes the Echo, for one reason or another, did not translate a word. Usually it only happened with names, but this word sounded more like a position or role. “What is ‘debutante’?”

“A debutante is a young highborn woman making her first formal appearance in society,” Haurchefant explained, with a sharp look at his father. I wondered why.

“Do you not have such things where are from?” Artoirel asked.

I shook my head. I wasn’t highborn, either.

“You are a ward of House Fortemps and now a lady of prominence to our people.” Edmont said. “It is only right that your first official introduction to the highborn of Ishgard be here in our home where you are familiar and protected. What say you?”

I perked up, surprised. I had a choice? Seeing this, the Count went on, “I will not force you into anything, though I do strongly recommend this course.”

I ducked my head and took a deep breath to steady myself. I had four choices in front of me. Attend one or both parties that the other high houses were probably going to throw and be stuck with a bunch of nobles on unfamiliar territory. Let Edmont host a party here at the manor where I would be more comfortable. Hide in my room for a week and shun everyone. Flee from Ishgard, screaming. The last one was impractical, the third would be perceived as a gross insult from me and possibly my benefactors. The first was anxiety inducing.

I glanced at Alphinaud, who was watching me, waiting to hear my answer. He saw me looking and smiled at me encouragingly. Right, how could I forget? It wasn’t like I’d be facing this alone. I’d have Alphinaud to help me navigate. Haurchefant, Artoirel, Emmanellain, Edmont, and probably Tataru as well.

So, I took another deep breath and looked at the Count. “Alright. Debutante it is.”

Emmanellain clapped his hands together in delight.

Edmont smiled. “Very well then. Firmien!” he called.

“Yes, my lord?” replied the steward. 

“Can it be done?”

“I shall ensure it.”

“Very good. Tell Perloin I will be along shortly to discuss the menu.”

“At once my lord.” The steward bowed then hurried from the room.

Emmanellain, meanwhile, was grinning like an absolute loon. “We have not had a good party in ages! Remember last time, Honoroit?”

“I shan’t ever forget, my lord,” the young boy replied dryly.

“Nor will anyone else, unfortunately,” Artoirel muttered.

Emmanellain merely shrugged, then turned to his manservant. “Come, Honoroit! We must find something suitable to—oh bollocks! Father, what is she to wear?”

At once, all eyes in the room were on me once more and I shrank back, suddenly very aware that I was the only woman present. “I—I have some nice things,” I stammered, “and you gave me those dresses—”

“Common fare,” Emmanellain dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“And, forgive me, Rain, but that which you arrived at Dragonhead in would hardly be considered appropriate.” Haurchefant added. My ears burned. It wasn’t my fault these people were so weird about showing skin.

“Nor would anything of mother’s fit her,” Artoirel mused. Well, good. I didn’t want to wear anything of hers anyway.

“Then it is a good thing we have a tailor on retainer,” Edmont reminded them tersely.

“And Tataru!” Alphinaud piped up. “She has become quite skilled with a needle and thread as of late, her assistance would be invaluable with such a short time to work. And she may take offense at not being at least consulted.”

Edmont nodded. “I shall have her sent for at once.”

“Allow me, father!” Emmanellain said eagerly. “And while I am out, I can begin to spread word of the party.”

Edmont considered it for a long moment. “You may, so long as you keep your wits about you, and take care to not imply insult against the other houses.” His eyes flicked down to Honoroit near the end and the young boy placed his hand over his heart.

I briefly entertained thoughts of escaping again but fleeing the manor would throw me out into festivities that I really didn’t have the energy for to begin with and fleeing the city would be the rudest thing I’d done this year. Possibly this decade. No, no, none of that now. I was the gods damned Warrior of Light and I was _not_ going to run screaming from a bunch of nobles. I was a god slayer. I had learned little and less about the art of dressmaking as a girl, but even I knew that a gown of the quality and caliber expected for the party would normally take days and days to make. They had a little over twenty-four hours. The least I could do was be a willing subject.

I told everyone I’d be waiting in my room when the tailor arrived and excused myself. I stripped down to small clothes, wrapped myself in a blanket, and sat down in front of the fireplace to contemplate what had happened and what I had to do now. All things considered, everyone had handled the news that their entire history and faith was a lie, and that the archbishop might be dabbling in the forbidden arts, remarkably well. Now I just had to hope Zephirin would take the bait and work with me…and after that…we’d go from there.

That being said, there were only three ways this was going to end. One: Thordan would summon his primal and I’d have to kill it. Two: Thordan would be stopped before he summoned his primal. Three: he wasn’t actually planning to summon a primal and I’d been wrong about everything except his eyebrows.

As much as I would love option three, despite the blow it would deal to my credibility and ego, I had a bad feeling we were going to end up dealing with option one. Because when had I _ever_ managed to stop a primal summoning before it actually happened? (The answer was never.)

Tataru arrived before the tailor did, practically kicking the door open, her clothes slightly disheveled and cheeks red from sprinting back to the manor. She had with her three of the women who worked in the house, armed with string, measuring tape, a small book, ink, and a quill.

“Oh, good, you’re already undressed!” Tataru yelled as she marched into the room. “Well, come on, time is money and we may as well be paupers!”

“I’m sorry they’re making you do this,” I said as I climbed to my feet, leaving the blanket behind.

“I’m not! I’ve been meaning to get my hands on you. I’ve been working on clothes for all the Scions in my free time, but I haven’t had a chance to do anything for you! of course, now that I’m getting your measurements, that’s about to change.” The lalafell grinned wickedly up at me and thrust her finger towards my face. “Alright, ladies! Let’s get to measuring!”

* * *

 

Sometime later, after every part of my body had been measured in every which way, I stood by myself behind the gazebo outside the Fortemps’ manor, bundled against the cold, my face and hair hidden under the folds of a scarf and cloak. Like this, people would be lucky to guess what race I was, never mind who I was. The Last Vigil was mostly quiet now and I could only assume that the throngs of people who’d been clamoring to see me had been dispersed. On the level below me, however, the festivities were in full swing. People filled the street for as far as I could see, talking, laughing, sharing food, playing games, and even dancing. I could hear musicians playing and somewhere nearby, a bard was singing. A group of children were playing a game near the fountain and though their clothes clearly showed who was highborn and who was not, I would’ve never known otherwise.

I wouldn’t have minded joining them if I felt up to it… or if Haurchefant wanted to. He’d talked about giving me a tour of the city before—well, before. Maybe now that things didn’t have to be weird between us, we could finally get around to that. Such an outing may help me figure out where we stood. Apart from the last sixteen hours, the last time we were alone together, caution had been thrown to the wind, certain words…and kisses had been exchanged. It was more than a bit much after the last month and everything had been said.

Haurchefant was one of the best men I’d had the privilege of knowing. I trusted him with my life. I loved our friendship. Probably loved him, too. Being in a romantic relationship with him would make me happy. All of these were facts. But it was also a fact that we lead two very different lives and we were never going to get the luxury of a normal relationship. Even if everything worked out and no one spontaneously imploded at the Warrior of Light tying the knot with an Ishgardian knight/nobleman…he couldn’t follow me when I left and there was never a guarantee I could come home to him. He deserved someone who could work alongside him and keep him warm every night. I deserved someone who could stand by my side through thick and thin.

And yet for some gods unknown reason…we wanted each other.

 _Of all the ridiculous problems to have_ , I thought grumpily.

My eyes were drawn to abnormality in the crowd, a single figure standing completely still amongst the milling bodies. It was a little girl, highborn from the look of her, and she was staring straight at me. A moment passed with just us staring at each other and then she extended her arm as far as she could and waved at me. I returned the gesture in a more subdued manner and the little girl went on about her way. I laughed to myself. Just saying hello because she could. I loved children sometimes.

After a few minutes more, I retreated into the gazebo where the strange little cauldron-like contraption was radiating heat. The steaming kettle was in place as always, but without any cups available or the scent of tea, I wondered what exactly its purpose was.

The sound of a hand knocking on glass to my left startled me and I jumped, whirling around to find none other than my favorite knight peering at me through the window closest to me. I clutched my chest dramatically and his shoulders shook with laughter. He held up his finger for me to wait then disappeared out of view. He appeared around the corner of the manor a minute later wearing a posh coat like those of his father and brothers. …Ah, wait, that was also the coat he wore the day he took me to the cliffside. Great. I was never going to not associate that day with this coat now.

“I had thought you ensnared by the family artisans!” He declared as he neared. “I must say, I was not expecting you to venture outside today.”

I shrugged. “Well, you know me.”

“Indeed I do…and full glad am I that you have changed your ways to include dressing appropriately for the weather.”

“This is my disguise,” I informed him primly. “No one can see who I am like this.”

Haurchefant smiled and joined me by the heater. “That may be, however, my dear, there are few women who would think to help themselves to our facilities and fewer still who are highlanders.”

“I’m not a highlander.”

“Oh, no?” There was genuine surprise in his voice. “Pardon me, I had thought you were, given your height.”

I shook my head. “The rest of the world doesn’t divide hyur between ‘highlanders’ and ‘midlanders’ like you lot do. Hyur are just hyur.”

“I did not know,” Haurchefant murmured, fascinated. “I have heard of Elezen of neither Wildwood nor Duskwight stock in other parts of the world.”

“Skyseekers.”

“What?”

“There’s an Elezen clan back home. In Common, they’re called Skyseekers.”

“ _Truly_?”

I nodded. “Named for their homes high in the mountains, as close to the sky as they can be.”

“What are they like?”

“Very different to Elezen here, living so close to the sun for thousands of years. They’re very dark but not like Duskwights, more earthy, except for their eyes. They’re always white, black, or grey.”

“Like yours.”

I hummed in agreement, rocking back on my heels. “Yeah, funny how that tends to work.”

“Wh—are you implying you are part _Elezen_?” Haurchefant asked, well and truly perplexed now, and the look on his face was enough to bring me to laughter. I shook my head after a few moments and took a deep breath calm myself enough to speak.

“Have I startled the poor lord?” I teased. “Is such a thing truly so unbelievable?”

His eyes flicked to my ears, hidden beneath my cloak, and I could just see him questioning every interaction we’d ever had. I lowered my hood for him and smiled. My ears were round and smooth, like any normal hyur’s. “My grandmother is a Skyseeker,” I explained, “and my father half. But I got my mother’s ears and hair.”

“I would never have guessed,” Haurchefant murmured and then laughed to himself. “I swear, you only continue to amaze me with every new detail I learn about you.”

I shrugged, not seeing anything particularly amazing about being mixed race. I was just…me, and I was hardly the only one.  Or maybe it was _because_ I was me.

“How are you doing?” I asked, changing the subject. “I know we—you learned a lot today.”

“I did,” he agreed with a sigh. “And there is much I wish I had not…but I am also glad you told me, all the same. I would rather the truth, in all its cruelty, than these lies which have falsely sustained us. Ser Aymeric was right—so long as the truth is kept from the people, we can never truly recover or move forward. Perhaps now the divide between highborn and low may finally begin to diminish.”

“Your mother was lowborn, wasn’t she?”

Haurchefant nodded. “Indeed. She was…a servant here at the manor for much of her early life, though I hope you do not think less of my father for it.”

“You would not respect him had his behavior been reprehensible.” I replied simply. Well, apart from cheating on his wife, but I could hardly judge him when I knew nothing of the circumstances. And Haurchefant wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t.

He gave me a small smile. “But as to your original question, I am well. Last night left me with no injuries worth noting and your return served to ease all my worries. More than anything, I am simply happy that you are home at last.”

 _Home_. That was the third time he’d said that word to me. The first had been in reference to Dragonhead specifically. But the second…and this time…where did he mean? Dragonhead? Ishgard?

…Himself?

I could live with that last answer.

“Oh, dear me, I forgot to tell you earlier!” Haurchefant snapped his fingers. “The entirety of Camp Dragonhead sends you their warmest regards, and you are cordially invited to celebrate with us at your earliest convenience. Medguistl has requested the name of your favorite dish.”

“ _Spanakopita_ ,” I replied immediately, my mouth nearly watering at the thought. The feeling faded when I realized there was no way a Coerthan woman would be able to prepare it like they did back home, and from Haurchefant’s bemused expression, he had no idea what I’d said. “A…spinach pie?” I tried again and that time the Echo seemed to have done its job because his confusion cleared. “It’s got spinach, of course, egg, onions, cheese, and some other stuff. It’s really good but I doubt anyone here knows how to make it.”

“I have had spinach pie before, though spinach quiche is much more common. If you provide me with a list of the ingredients, I am sure Medguistl would indulge you.”

“I think I can remember most of it—”

“There you are!” Alphinaud called, startling us both. Haurchefant turned and I leaned around him. The boy stood a few meters away from the gazebo, dressed in the fine outfit Tataru had made for him instead of the Ishgardian fare he’d been wearing earlier. …And I couldn’t help but feeling like I’d been caught doing something I ought not to be.

“Here we are,” Haurchefant replied cheerfully. I wondered how much of that was genuine.

“Your father is looking for you, Lord Haurchefant. I believe he’s still in the dining room.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Alphinaud’s eyes flicked between us briefly and he smiled. “Not at all.” He turned to go.

“And where are you off to?” I asked.

“Limsa Lominsa!” Alphinaud called over his shoulder.

“What for?”

“A favor to the cook!” He turned to wave farewell then touched his hand to the aethernet shard and disappeared. Heading for the main aetheryte, no doubt. Alphinaud, unfortunately, did not have enough of something called ‘anima’ to simply teleport long distances like I could. He had to have an aethernet at his point of origin and destination. Must be rough.

“A favor to the cook?” I repeated.

Haurchefant hummed speculatively. “We must be short on ingredients,” he mused, “or perhaps there simply isn’t enough time for Perloin to prepare the entire menu. The man has to sleep tonight, after all. Normally he would have had at least a week’s notice for such an event…and the other culinarians we have on retainer to assist, but I would assume they are all out enjoying the festivities. Possibly intoxicated.”

“Well, Limsa is the home of the Culinarians’ guild…. I wasn’t aware Alphinaud was acquainted with the guildmaster though.” I folded my arms. “Maybe I ought to go with him, just in case. Lyngsath owes me a few favors.”

“Now, now, my dear, I am sure Master Alphinaud can handle this matter himself. Today is your day to rest and such a long trip through the aetherial sea twice over would surely be taxing!”

I sighed. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. My own anima was depleted after last night. The journey across from the Churning Mists may not have been a problem on its own, but I had had _literally_ to carry Ysayle with me so that she could travel to Foundation despite never having attuned to it in the past. Without the ancient aetheryte in Zenith, the journey would have been impossible and gotten one or both of us killed. Hopping clear across the continent twice in a row could trigger aether sickness and I was in no mood or state to be dealing with _that_ right now.

Turning back to the heater, I extended my hands over the burning coals and sighed again.

“I must go and find my father, but I shall return anon…if you desire my company further.”

The doubt in his voice had me turning on my heel once more and reached for his hand, squeezing as if it alone would quash whatever doubts he harbored. “I would have your company always,” I said firmly.

It took a few moments for him to be able to speak and when he did, his voice was full of emotion. “And I yours.”

I smiled ruefully. “I’ll need it tomorrow night for sure.” That got a small laugh out of him, but his eyes were uncertain and that brought me up short. “You…are coming, aren’t you?”

“Well, I—I rarely was ever permitted to attend such things,” he confessed. “The Countess forbade it on most occasions and, truth be told, after her death I never even attempted. I will ask my father. I doubt he would deny such a request, especially from you.”

“You should not even have to ask to attend a party in your own home.”

Haurchefant shrugged with a small shake of his head. “A privilege denied to bastards the city over.” I made a soft sound of disgust and he squeezed my hand. “Dwell not on what cannot be changed, my dear, and do not rile yourself on my account.”

“I’ll rile myself up if I bloody want to.” I grumbled petulantly.

“There is naught which can be said that I am not accustomed or immune to. I know full well that I am not truly lesser than any other man for the circumstances of my birth. But perhaps better than they for my character and deeds.” Haurchefant clasped his free hand over mine. “Do not sacrifice your honor tomorrow to defend mine.”

“I will make no such promises.”

He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Just don’t punch anyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is gonna be Firmien (the Head Steward) for the next 24 hours](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBwELzvnrQg)


	4. Resolute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I trust you.”
> 
> “Excellent choice.”

His father was not in the dining hall, nor the kitchens, the solar, his study, or even his room, nor had any of the staff seen him. Haurchefant was beginning to wonder if he’d gone to poke the hornet’s nest that was the tailors’ work room when he found Firmien in the hallway, delegating tasks to members of the staff. The steward directed him once more to his father’s study and when Haurchefant went to look again, he found that his father had indeed arrived in his study after he’d left. Seated behind his desk with a fine quill in hand and a stack of ornate cards beside him: the invitations to tomorrow’s party.

“Son,” the count greeted from behind his desk. “I was beginning to wonder if you had pulled yet another disappearing act.”

“You will not find me prone to such flighty acts these days, my lord.”

Something flickered across Edmont’s expression and he lowered his quill. “Close the door.”

Haurchefant nodded and did as instructed, then walked towards the desk. “Is aught amiss, my lord?”

“You need not address me so formally,” Edmont told him for the umpteenth time this year. “You are my son before you are my knight.”

“Yes…father,” Haurchefant said slowly. His father never knew, but the Countess had despised it when Haurchefant referred to him as such, and he soon learned never to do so in her presence. Gradually, he stopped doing it altogether. Perhaps it would’ve hurt more if he and his father had been closer but…well. If they’d been closer, he would never have reached this point. But mayhap he _could_ change that now that the Countess was dead. There was much he could do and say now that she was dead, if only he would allow himself to do so.

“You wished to speak with me?” he asked.  
  
Edmont nodded. “Merely to inquire as to when you planned on returning to Dragonhead. Great change is coming and though I know you will want to see us through it, your people will need you to lead them, my son.”

“I know but…I intended to remain here a few days, with your permission, of course. I—would like to attend the banquet as well.”

His father’s lips quirked into a rueful smile. “You have not asked to attend any events since…well, I cannot recall since when. Well over a decade, I am sure. Of course you may.”

Haurchefant dipped his head respectfully. “Thank you, father.”

Edmont’s smile warmed into something genuine. “I hated parties as a boy, but your mother was fascinated by them. I would have happily switched roles with her. Instead, we compromised. You would not believe how difficult it was to convince her mother to allow her to accompany me as my guest, I would have failed if my own mother had not interceded on our behalf. It was fun for the both of us.”

Haurchefant could hardly believe his ears. His father _never_ spoke of his mother…and with such fondness in his voice!

“I believe we got away with it for…three or four years before we grew too old. There comes a point in every child’s life where they lose their ability to simply…slip by unnoticed.” He sighed, his eyes as distant as the memories. “Someone from another house recognized her for who she was and thus did the fun end. Most of our fun ended in the year that followed. I, the eldest, was being groomed to be Count and your mother, well, she was a servant girl. We were not children anymore and we found we could no longer….” Edmont gave his head a little shake and his eyes refocused on Haurchefant.

“I took a very great risk when I granted the Scions patronage. Were you not my son, I would not have even considered the request, and had you not shown me her through your eyes, I would not have granted it.”

Haurchefant’s lips parted in surprise. “What?” he murmured.

“She is a fine young woman, enchanting in her peculiarity. It brings me joy to know that you have found someone with whom you want to share your heart and even more that the circumstances I faced will not be passed onto you. But, please, Haurchefant, for your sakes, exercise discretion tomorrow and beyond. Do not let the other Houses see.”

Relationships between highborn and lowborn were practically taboo, and those between highborn and outsiders were unheard of. Such arrangements with highborn bastards were more of a grey area. Erring on the side of caution, Edmont could not outright condone their relationship, so that was as close to permission to court her as he was ever going to get!

Haurchefant grinned openly at his father (how long had it been since he’d done that?) and then cleared his throat. “Rest assured, my role tomorrow evening will be that of moral support, to see to it that this banquet does not end as poorly as the last she attended.”

His father grimaced ever so slightly. “Very well then, I trust you will behave respectably. You are free to remain here for a few days hence—”

“Thank you.”

“—on the condition that you return to Dragonhead anon and see to it that your absence will not be detrimental to the garrison.”

“Yes, my lord—father. Yes, father. Thank you.”

* * *

 

Haurchefant had to return to Dragonhead…which was just as well because Tataru came and dragged me off to the work room maybe an hour later, she and the others had commandeered for my first fitting. She introduced the tailor, a sharp-featured Elezen man of perhaps forty summers, as Gustav. Then to his assistants, Hattie and Nicolle, both hyur and similar in age to him. I bowed to them—it seemed only right to after the work they had put in so far, rank and propriety be damned.

“Now, now, enough of that,” Gustav said with a dismissive wave. “Come, come, down to your small clothes, please. And lest modesty come into play, rest assured you possess nothing which I have not already seen a thousand times over.”

Biting back a laugh, I eagerly did as I was told. Tataru directed me onto a small platform in the center of the room while Nicolle and Hattie bought forward a strange white dress.

“What is that?” I asked, warily. It was remarkably simple, plain white, and less than any dress I had been given to wear so far. Was _this_ truly meant to be my gown?

“Tis called a muslin,” Gustav explained. “Normally it would match the final dress in its design, but since time is of the essence, this is to ensure the basic fit of the dress is as we like. The rest we shall simply have to leave up to skill, intellect, and Halone.”

“I trust you.”

“Excellent choice.”

The hyur women helped me into the muslin and I stood completely still while they smoothed it down my body and proceeded to poke, prod, fiddle, and readjust. They all went back and forth, talking about positioning, stitches, hems, lengths, and so on, while Tataru took notes diligently a little notebook.

“Might I make a request?” I asked, interrupting them, and Gustav looked at me warily.

“I suppose…”

I held my arms out to him. The sleeves were wrist-length and frilled and not at all to my liking. “Could you make them looser and no frills? I know it’s probably not in fashion here but back home, our dresses have much looser sleeves.”

“Oh.” The tailor blinked in surprise. Hattie nodded, and Nicolle shrugged. “Well, yes, I suppose we could do that.”

“Ooh, I have the perfect idea for them!” Tataru crowed, turning the page in her notebook, and quickly sketched something out. She finished in under a minute then held it up for Gustav to see.

He nodded almost immediately. “Yes, this is doable, and not entirely out of fashion. Well done, Mistress. You may have a promising career ahead of you!”

Tataru beamed and blushed at the praise and I smiled, too. They showed me the sketch for approval and even though it wasn’t _quite_ what I’d meant, it seemed like a happy compromise. They let me go not long after and set to work.

I returned to my room and busied myself before dinner by sorting my supplies and spoils from my recent travels in my room, deciding what to keep and what to sell. I’d picked up a lot of bits and bobs, articles of clothing, and of course, the local flora. My task kept me occupied until dinner, which I shared in the dining room with the Fortemps’ family and Alphinaud. Tataru, unfortunately, was still sequestered with Gustav, Hattie, and Nicolle.

After, I retired to my room to finish sorting my things. Outside my window, I could hear the festivities continuing with vigor, but I no longer felt the urge to go out and join them. It was way too cold and I didn’t have the same motivation they did. Haurchefant arrived while I was sorting through the plants I’d foraged and I welcomed him in gladly. He’d brought a tray of ingredients to prepare hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits, all of which he set by the fire, and settled down to watch me work. He asked me questions about each bundle or bag and I gladly told him what I could of each.

“Chestnuts?” he repeated with interest, eyeing the pile of bags I’d indicated. He picked one up and opened it for inspection, then a smile spread across his face. “What luck! We have not had a stable source of these since the calamity! But they’re in Dravania?”

I nodded. “Want some? We can roast them.” He nodded excitedly. “They’ll go nice with the hot chocolate.”

“Splendid!”

Setting aside the bundle of chives I’d been binding, I went to dig through my camping supplies tucked neatly against the end of my bed. I found my rainy night cooking set, all well cleaned, thankfully, and one of my hot pads. Grabbing one of the bags of chestnuts as well, I joined Haurchefant in front of the hearth. He got to work preparing the hot chocolate while unpacked my cooking set, glancing at each other periodically and smiling when we did. I couldn’t help but keep watching his hands as he prepared our drinks nothing but his fingers to measure the ingredients. A few fingerfuls of this, a pinch of that, no hesitation, all of it practiced, comforting in its familiarity.

This cooking set was comprised of a small grill which could be powered by naught but a sufficient quantity of fire crystals and was safe to use even in a tent, which was why I had dubbed it my ‘rainy night’ set. I placed a few fire crystals inside the oven, activated them with my own aether, then shut the little door to let it warm up. Then I got to work cutting little crosses into the chestnuts. Haurchefant finished the hot chocolates and joined me in my task a minute or so after.

The warmth of the fire was intoxicating at this proximity and it lulled me into a sense of ease I had not felt these last few weeks, only helped by the man sitting beside me. I scooted closer to him so that our arms brushed against each other’s, he paused, and from the corner of my eye I saw him smile tenderly at me. 

When we finished, I set the skillet containing the chestnuts onto the grill. “There, should take about twenty minutes.” I sat back down and leaned against him fully. He handed me my mug of cocoa then wrapped his arm around my waist. Humming contently, I tilted my head up. “So, what shall we do with the time?”

And immediately regretted my choice of words when a suggestive smirk spread across his face. It was familiar, expected even, and it proved just how relaxed we were in that moment. We’d let ourselves slip back into the intimate familiarity we had shared before and now, fully awake and without injuries that needed tending, I wasn’t ready. He sensed the change in me almost immediately and began to withdraw, pulling his arm away from me.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured and set my mug on the ground. “I just…can’t. We can’t.”

The look of utter despair which appeared on his face brought me up short. He schooled his features after a few moments, swallowing heavily, and averted his eyes. “Have you changed your mind, then?”

“I—no! No, no, no, not at all!” I scooted closer to him so our legs were pressed together. “I want to be with you. If you’ll have me, I’ll have you.”

“I want you, too,” Haurchefant answered. “’Tis beyond foolish but—”

“I know. You weren’t wrong and we can’t pretend like you were. And we can’t pretend the last month didn’t happen,” I added firmly.

He bowed his head. “No.”

“You hurt me. A lot.”

“And I would beg your forgiveness for it.”

I wanted to say he had it but, honestly, he didn’t. Not yet. He had not been cruel, but I just couldn’t simply…forget how unkind the whole situation had been. And what was more—he’d decided what was best for us without me.

“I’m not ready,” I said instead. “Being like this, with you, I like this. I want this. You make me feel happy. Safe. But even if we were to hammer out everything right here, right now, this isn’t the right time for a relationship. We both have other people we need to be focusing on and we both deserve more than the we can give each other.”

Haurchefant dipped his head, expression pained. “I know, dear one. I hope you can at least forgive me my manner the other night, before you left for the Aery. I was…frightened—”

“Me too.”

“—and overwhelmed. I feared losing you to the wyrm and I spoke and acted in haste. Though I meant every word, t’was unfair of me.”

I bumped my shoulder against his. “Hey, I kissed you, remember?”

“Oh, quite vividly.” A hint of a smirk appeared on his face. “And I would very much enjoy a repeat performance, but I will not add to your burdens any more than I already have. Pray, let us be as we were before: dear friends and allies in our struggles. And…someday, soon I hope, we can be more.”

“You’d wait for me?”

“My dear, I have waited my whole life for you,” he said with such raw honestly that my lips parted in surprise. “A few moons or even years more but pale in comparison. And when the time comes, I will happily court you as you deserve to be.”

I bit my lip, considering his words. The smartest thing to do would be to never enter a relationship, period, but fuck that. With our decision made, what he was suggesting now was definitely the smart thing to do. It would give us the time we desperately needed for ourselves and our duties. But above all, it gifted us a relationship in the (hopefully) near future to look and work towards. 

“I have one question. Does this…proposition of yours allow this from time to time?” I bumped his shoulder again.

“If you so desire, of course.” Haurchefant smiled. “When the occasion presents itself.”

“Then…alright.”

“Alright.”

I laid my head down on his shoulder and after a moment, he rested his head atop mine. This…I could live with this.

* * *

 

Tataru came to fetch me from breakfast the following morning looking completely exhausted. Lalafells rarely got bags under their eyes but boy was she sporting a pair.

“Come on, Rain! Time for a fitting! Hurry up, hurry up, we’ve still loads more to do.”

I looked down at my half-eaten porridge and opened my mouth to protest, but her little hands clamped around my arm and tugged. The force of it was not nearly enough to budge me but it was the intent that mattered, and from the vaguely annoyed look she gave me when I didn’t move bespoke her sincerity. Gods, had she even slept?

I grabbed a napkin to wipe my mouth then scooted my chair back and stood. “I’ll finish later,” I announced to no one in particular and then followed my insistent friend out of the room.

The work room was…a mess, to put it lightly. There was fabric draped over almost every surface and at least six open boxes of supplies. A few empty trays sat innocuously in the corner. Gustav, Nicolle, and Hattie were as worn and harried as Tataru but each wore a look of eagerness as I entered the room.

And in the middle of the room on a dress stand was my gown.

That muslin thing from the night before had not prepared me at all for the final product. It was…gorgeous. Completely gorgeous. But more than that, it was _familiar_.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Tataru said quietly, “but while we were designing it, I suggested a few things from—”

“Home,” I murmured, then blinked. “But how did you know?”

Tataru shrugged her little shoulders. “I’m Ul’Dahn. I’ve been around merchants all my life. Between your accent and just…little details here and there, it wasn’t hard to work out. Come on now, tell us! What do you think?”

The dress appeared to be comprised of two layers. The under was a deep black with beautiful red scroll pattern that almost seemed to shine. The over layer was made of bright crimson, like the emblems on the shields of House Fortemps. The bodice was modest, showing the upper chest but more than covering the swell where my breasts would be. The sleeves, which were red, covered about half of the dress stand’s shoulders, which would no doubt come across as daring or flirtatious by their standards. They were fitted down to my elbows, where they flared out, dangling more than halfway down the skirts, which began at the waist and fell clear to the floor. The outerskirt was parted in the front, falling in sloping waves which grew wider the further down, giving a full view of the black fabric beneath.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured then laughed. “And it’s mine?”

“Well, of course!” Gustav replied.

“I’ve never had something this…elegant.” I reached out to run my fingers along the bodice. Soft.

“It’s not quite finished yet! Come, come, you know what to do!”

Biting back a laugh, I eagerly slipped out of the simple shirt and trousers I had worn to breakfast. Tataru directed me onto a small platform in the center of the room while Nicolle and Hattie got the dress off the stand, which was a lot harder than it looked. Getting the damn thing on was more of a hassle than I’d anticipated, too, and it took the combined efforts of all three of us to get it on properly. They laced the bodice up behind my back, smoothed my skirts, and sleeves. Then Gustav asked me how it felt.

I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that, so I told him the truth. It was unlike anything I’d worn before and was comfortable. So he started asking specific questions about the feel in different areas. Nothing too tight or too loose, apart from the sleeves of course. I’d been right about the hint of shoulder on display, which did not bother me in the slightest, but, ooh, Haurchefant was sure to like it. The thought brought a smug grin to my face. Ooh, _yes_ , Haurchefant was going to be beside himself when he saw me in this.

“What are you smirking about?” Tataru asked.

“Oh, nothing.”  
  
She hummed doubtfully, eyes flicking up and down my body, then it was her turn to smirk. Oh, hell, did she know, too? What was I saying? Of _course_ she knew. If Alphinaud had picked up on it, there was no way she hadn’t. And it wouldn’t surprise me at all if she’d heard about the other night, too.

“I designed the sleeves, remember?” she said, winking conspiratorially.

“You ought to sleep,” I suggested, changing the subject. “You can’t be falling over from exhaustion at the party—oh and what are you going to wear?!”

“Oh, piffle! Nobody’s coming to see me! It’s all about you and by the Twelve, you’re going to look dazzling for it!” Tataru declared.

“Indeed,” Gustav agreed. “Although, Miss Tataru, when we make the next one, I should be happy to make one for you as well.”

Tataru, tired as she was, positively beamed at him. I, on the other hand, was caught up on one word in particular. “ _Next_?”

“Why, yes! Surely you did not think you could simply wear the same gown to all the parties you attend in the future?” Actually, that was pretty much what I’d thought. It must’ve shown on my face because he sighed wearily. “Miss, you will need at least three more.”

My eyes damn near bugged out of my head and I jerked forward, earning me sharp admonishment from Hattie. Three? _Three_?! Why the hells would anyone ever need more than one?! I stammered. “I don’t…I ge—I don’t need—!” I stepped down from the pedestal, feeling strangely overwhelmed all of a sudden. “I—I c-can just wear armor to these things!”

“You are a national hero,” Gustav pointed out, completely unfazed, “and an unofficial member of a High House. While it may be permissible for you to wear fine armor at a state-sponsored event, events hosted by the High Houses are another matter entirely. You cannot be seen wearing the same dress to every party!”

But? WHY?

“High society is like the Coliseum,” Tataru piped up, seeing my confusion, “with its own rules, weapons, and styles of combat! If you don’t play by the rules, your competitors will eat you up and spit you out like thrice-cooked dodo meat!”

Gustav blinked owlishly. “I am not certain I follow your analogy, but if it helps, then I suppose. Now, please, miss, if you would, back up there so we can finish.”

Sighing, I mounted the platform once more. However, before we could begin again, there was a knock on the door. Gustav sighed wearily, muttering under his breath, and Nicolle hurried to the door. She cracked it open at first, then opened it a bit wider, but not enough that I could see who was out there, nor they inside.

Then I heard a young man say, quite clearly, “I bring a message from the Lord Commander for the Warrior of Light.”

I gasped. A reply so soon? He must have been more fortunate than I’d been anticipating. I hopped down from the platform once more, hiking up my skirts, and made a beeline for the door. Nicolle stood aside, revealing a squire wearing the colors of a Temple Knight with a scroll bearing with Ser Aymeric’s own seal.

He saluted me then handed me the letter. “From Ser Aymeric for you, my lady.”

I dipped my head, thanking him, and he saluted once more and left. I turned away from the door, opening the scroll carefully, and bit my lip as my eyes flicked across the paper. There was only one word, written in elegant penmanship: _Tonight._

…

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops.


	5. Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You must show these people that you are everything they have heard. You have already proven that you deserve to be here, now you must convince them that you are worthy of their respect. No, you must command it.” He stopped in front of me and slammed his fist into his hand. “Demand it with every step you take. You are the Warrior of Light and you have accomplished in a matter of weeks what their entire nation could not do in a millennium.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this bitch long af cos i couldn't find a good place to cut it 
> 
> not that i expect any complaints lol just be aware most chapters won't be this long 
> 
> Enjoy ;3c

The manor had spent the entire day in an absolute flurry. Everyone had something they were doing, even the Count! Determined to be of use, I’d inserted myself into the cleaning crew and accepted the light work they were willing to give me—mostly dusting and sweeping—until Artoirel found me about had a heart attack at the sight of their _honored guest_ with a feather duster, how dare they?! I managed to diffuse the situation, but I wasn’t allowed to help after that. Which was just as well, because Estinien turned up not long after and we had to plan how this evening was going to go.

Nearly three hours before guests were set to arrive, a group of five maids cornered me while I was trying to have a conversation with Haurchefant and instead of _protecting me_ , he let them bundle me off into my room.  
  
“Some knight you are!” I hollered over my shoulder.

They threw me in the tub and made me wash, while telling me to hurry up once a minute. Then I was wrapped in towels, then a robe, and they sat me down in a chair with my hair wrapped in a towel and did my makeup. I’d never had my makeup done before and had no idea how _still_ I had to be for it. I wasn’t even aware I was even moving half the times they scolded me.

Then Jandelaine de Dzemael, realm-renowned Aesthetician, turned up without any warning, somehow made it past the guards, the steward, and at least one member of the Fortemps’ family, into my room where he declared my hair to be his now and ordered the maids to get me dressed so he could work. I advised them to just let it happen. Jandelaine was a _character_ of the highest caliber but his skills with scissors and comb rivaled mine with the blade.

My dress, which had been finished not long before the maids kidnapped me, was even more stunning than it had been this morning. They had sewn red gems and pearls into the top of the bustle and sleeves. Just the thought that it was mine gave me butterflies. Between the five of them, the entire dress took five minutes to get on, every lace firmly tied, every bit of fabric secured. They showed me a fine golden necklace with rubies that had been prepared to compliment the gown, and a set of matching earrings. I considered informing them that I had three piercings in each ear but decided not to send them into a panic.

When they were satisfied, they turned me over to Jandelaine who had been waiting patiently in the bathroom for us to finish. He thanked them for their hard work with the over-the-top grandeur he was known for, then immediately dismissed the lot of them. Four of them obeyed, but one, the eldest, a woman of perhaps fifty summers and greying hair, stayed resolutely put.  
  
“Pardon, my lord, but I’ll not leave the lady alone in the company of a gentleman from another house.”

Jandelaine shrugged then guided me back into the bathroom, where had apparently not been waiting idly. The cabinet was lined with his tools, brushes, concoctions, and conspicuous mahogany box. He directed me to the chair in front of the mirror and I lowered myself carefully into it. He pulled a black cape seemingly out from nowhere and draped it around my shoulders.

“Now, don’t you worry about anything,” Jandelaine cooed, patting my shoulder. “Jandelaine will make sure you are the belle of the ball. Free of charge! …Consider it my thanks for what you have done,” he added without a hint of his usual eccentricity.

I looked up at him in the mirror and smiled.

He combed my hair out and gave me a quick trim, muttering about split ends and singes. He used a strange contraption to blow hot air on my hair until it dried, which took about five minutes in total and impressed both me and the maid standing watch in the doorway. Afterwards, the maid tentatively struck up a conversation with him, and I settled further into the chair, letting their words wash over me while his hands braided my hair into a headband. After, he opened the mahogany box, and selected a few pins with small red gemstones on the ends and slid them into my hair along the seams of the braid.

When he was finished, he asked me how I liked it (I loved it) then spritzed something onto my hair to hold it in place then something else from a blue bottle to ‘make it shine’. And shine it did as I turned my head back and forth in the mirror. Jandelaine declared my hair another resounding success—with a few more adjectives, of course—then put my necklace and earrings on for me so they wouldn’t mess up my hair. As he was doing so, he noticed my ears had more than one piercing hole each, and quickly pulled a bit of makeup out from his kit to hide them.

I thanked him profusely and he kissed my hands over dramatically, to the degree that I was certain he was only attempting to provoke the maid who was, indeed, provoked, and shooed him away. Afterwards, I was left on my own to await the party at least fifteen pounds heavier and smelling like I’d slept in a patch of flowers. I hardly recognized the woman looking back at me in the mirror. And I absolutely did not want to leave my room.

At around six o’clock, I began hearing the front doors to the manor opening and closing in the distance, the muffled sounds of a man announcing the arrival of each guest, and with every single one my heart beat just a little bit faster.

I started pacing.

After receiving word that my rendezvous with Ser Zephirin was to happen tonight, during the party no less, the Fortemps family and I had deemed it necessary to plan my movements for the evening. I would enter alone, and my presence would be announced by the head steward, to ensure all got the look at me that they so desperately craved. After which I would be escorted around the party by either Haurchefant, Artoirel, or Emmanellain at all times. Not that I had any intentions of being passed off to Emmanellain. The intent was for there to be a safety net for me at any time without giving off the impression that I was, shall we say, _attached_ to any brother in particular. (And I _swear_ I saw Emmanellain trying not to smile about that.) Then, roughly fifteen minutes before I was due to meet Zephirin, Alphinaud would join me and make some excuse to get me to follow him away from the party. He was perhaps the only one I could be seen disappearing with for any length of time and not raise some eyebrows. From there, I would make my escape.

It was everything in _between_ that had me nervous.

Why the _hells_ had I agreed to this party? I wasn’t a lady! I’d never even set foot in a mansion until I was sent to purge Haukke Manor which, uh, didn’t exactly count, and they’d know it as soon as they saw me. They’d know all the rumors about me being completely foreign were true the second I opened my mouth, too. It’d be just my luck for the Echo to suddenly stop working halfway through a conversation with someone important. Or—or for me to completely mess up some social rule I had no idea about or insult someone ‘cos if there was ever a time for cultural differences could rear their heads to bite me in the arse—

There was a knock on my door followed by a quiet, muffled, “Rain?” Alphinaud.

“Come in,” I called, still pacing.  

He pushed the door open wide and stepped into the room, looking around for me, and frowned when he saw me pacing. “Oh dear,” he murmured and closed the door.

“Yeah,” I huffed, “oh dear.”

“What troubles you, friend?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just scared out of my _mind_ over here!”

“I am sure things will go well with Ser Zephirin,” he assured me, “after all, the man does seem to be on our side.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about him right now.”

“Then wha—oh. The banquet. Of course. I should have known. I confess, I myself am a bit…apprehensive to be attending another such gathering so soon after…” he ducked his head for a moment, but then perked up again. “Though I am told Her Grace is not at all worse for wear and is to be making a public appearance shortly to reassure her people.”

I could not fully articulate how delighted and relieved I was that Nanamo _lived_. Gods, how I had hated thinking she had died right before my eyes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, real or not. The news of her recovery brought a genuine smile to my face and I stopped in my tracks, turning to face him. “I’m not expecting anyone to drop dead tonight.” 

Alphinaud binked in surprise, cocking his head to the side. “What else is there?”

I laughed once without humor. “Not everyone grows up going to fancy parties, Alphi.”

He stared at me uncomprehendingly for a long moment before his eyes flipped wide and his lips parted in surprise. He schooled his features quickly and walked towards me. “The Warrior of Light, afraid of nobles,” he said with a hint of teasing in his tone. I was absolutely not in the mood for it.

“Piss off,” I snapped and resumed my pacing.

Alphinaud did not piss off. Instead he smiled at me in a way I had never seen him do before. It seemed almost…affectionate? Compassionate?  And he moved to intercept me. I was tempted to just walk around him but there was something in his posture that, combined with his expression, sparked curiosity within me. So, I stopped and waited.

“Straighten your back. Lift your chin. Shoulders back,” Alphinaud ordered, doing each movement as he said it, and I mimicked him. “Everyone is going to be looking at you and everyone is going to be forming their opinions of you. Do not let them see your uncertainty.” He began to walk in a slow circle around me. “Confidence is key. You must walk, talk, breathe like you belong. If you believe you deserve to be there, it will show in everything you do. People will respect that. Bend to it, if they must.”

“Like how you wormed your way into the Scions?” I snarked.

Alphinaud smirked at me, completely unbothered by my assessment. “You must show these people that you are everything they have heard. You have already proven that you deserve to be here, now you must convince them that you are worthy of their respect. No, you must command it.” He stopped in front of me and slammed his fist into his hand. “Demand it with every step you take. You are the Warrior of Light and you have accomplished in a matter of weeks what their entire nation could not do in a millennium.”

The conviction in his voice was oddly inspiring. Maybe he was onto something here.

“Let no one speak over you. Let no one attempt to sway you. Be firm in your convictions but take care not to offend,” he added. “You ought not declare for House Fortemps in a way which will make you seem inaccessible to the other houses, but neither should you seem ungrateful or disloyal to them. ‘Tis a fine line but I have faith you can walk it.” He smiled at me confidently for a second and then it turned wry. “But above all: do try _not_ to wear your heart on your sleeve, hmm?”

_Oooooooooooohhhhhh, we’re going there again, are we?_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I retorted primly, lifting my chin.

“As I passed your door last night, I happened to hear you and a certain fellow laughing together in here. It does not take a genius to know what it means when a woman has a man in her room after hours.”

Cheeks flaming, I quickly sputtered, “A-Alphinaud! …I thought we already established that it’s none of your business!” I added with no small amount of bite.

Alphinaud shook his head. “No, you are right. It is not. Which is why I owe you my sincerest apologies.”

Wait, what?

“I wronged you, I see that now. I should have come to you instead of him with my concerns. I should have trusted you, respected you more. I should not have been such a coward. I…still believe what I said to be true. It is unwise, dangerous even, for you two to court. But… ‘tis up to you to make your own decisions. ‘Tis your life and ‘tis high time I stopped treating you a piece in a game to be moved as I see fit. Do as you will…and know that I will support you as I can.”

I was quiet for a long time, equally shocked by this turn of events as I was touched by his words. Instead of responding, I let my eyes travel along his form. He was dressed smartly, as one would expect, in his usual colors of blue. He may have passed for a son of House Fortemps were it not for his hair, which was combed nicely for once, but was out of sorts near the base of his braid and its usual decorative clasp was absent.  Jandelaine wouldn’t have let him leave the room like that, much less attend the party.

“Your hair is messy,” I said, catching him completely off guard. “Here, turn around.”

“I—well, um—alright,” he stammered, face turning beet red, and did as he was told.

I undid the ribbon with care then gently combed my fingers through the braid, starting at the bottom, and working my way up. At first glance, one might think all his hair to be long, but in fact, it was only a small section in the back. Most of his hair was short and layered, much like his sister’s if memory served, and I wondered whose idea that was.  
  
“Where’s the thing you normally have in it?” I asked.

“It did not match,” he all but squeaked.

Rolling my eyes, I told him to stay put then went to the bathroom. Jandelaine’s arrival had been unexpected and the supplies the maids had intended for my hair were still in there, just pushed way out of the way. I grabbed a hair brush and hurried back out to Alphinaud.

He hadn’t moved an inch since I’d left, good boy. I draped the ribbon over my shoulder for safekeeping then began to brush his hair out.

“In Sharl—” he began, voice cracking, and cleared his throat quickly, trying again. “In Sharlayan, it is customary for children to wear their hair long. However, having long hair can make it difficult for one to spend their days pouring over tomes and scrolls. Alisaie was never fond of her hair being long and it was her idea to wear her hair in this manner. I, naturally, followed suit.”

Naturally.

“Though, I confess, it was much simpler to maintain with her help,” he added morosely. His sister’s absence weighed heavily as ever.

I tapped his shoulder with the brush and held it in front of his face. He took it from my hands. I ran my fingers through his hair once more then began dividing it into three sections for the braid.

“You talk a lot,” I said as I began to braid. “My people, we believe that when it comes to apologies, actions have more weight than words.”

He tensed.

“It’s not enough to simply ask for forgiveness, even outright, in order to receive it. Nor is it enough to simply declare one is forgiven. Words are easy. We believe the sincerity of an apology and forgiveness ought to be shown through action.”

The braid was a bit longer than normal, but it would do, and it looked much better now. Plucking the ribbon from my shoulder, I tied his hair securely then ran my fingers through the loose strands beneath to ensure there were no knots. Then I smoothed the hair around the base of the braid down to help it blend in. I wondered if he understood my meaning. I hoped he did. It wasn’t much, fixing someone’s hair, and but it was just the right amount of kindness. At least, it would’ve been back home.

Then Alphinaud turned around with a soft smile on his face and I knew he had. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat and straightened his back, drawing himself up to his full height—all five fulms of him—and held out his arm. “Would you permit me to escort you to the party?”

 _You’re adorable_ , I thought.

“Of course,” I replied, looping my arm around is.

“Ah, no, not quite like that,” he said quickly, pulling his arm free, and held it again. This time I slid my arm slowly around his, letting him guide it into place with his free hand. The end result was similar to my hasty swing from a moment before, but more relaxed, lightly holding rather than gripping. Ah, of course, in this position, he was clearly meant to be ‘leading’, even though we would be side by side.  

“Did they teach you how to escort a lady at that fancy school of yours?”

He wrinkled his nose in confusion. “No?”

I snickered.

We stopped to check on Tataru before heading out, figuring she would have returned to her room by now, either to prepare or to sleep. She did not respond when we knocked, so I carefully opened the door and peered inside. She was sound asleep on the chair by the fireplace, with a half-eaten sandwich on a plate next to her. After the day and night she’d had, I hadn’t really expected her to be able to attend the party, but I still felt bad. She deserved to go and it was only because of me that she wasn’t able. I couldn’t just leave her like that and I motioned Alphinaud into the room.

With the care of one handling a sleeping infant, I slid my arms beneath Tataru’s shoulders and legs, lifted her from the chair, and carried her over to the bed. Alphinaud pulled the blankets and sheets back and I eased her down onto the bed, tucking her in carefully. She mumbled something in her sleep and shifted, burrowing her little face into the pillow, then settled with a soft sigh.

“Y’know,” I murmured, “she may not be a fighter, but she’s as tough as any Scion.”

“And works as hard as any of us ever did,” Alphinaud agreed in the same manner. “Perhaps twice as much.”

I nodded. We stood watch over her for a few moments longer, then Alphianud bumped his elbow against mine. “We should go.”

I nodded again and we tiptoed out of the room. I eased the door shut as slowly and carefully as possible and exhaled in relief when it closed without making a sound, then turned to Alphinaud. He held out his arm again and this time I slid my arm into position on my own. He gave our arms a quick scrutinizing look, nodded once, and we were off. 

The party was taking place on the ground floor, with the intention of keeping the guests in the main entry, parlor, solar, music room, and dining room, though the library was open to anyone as well. Piano music flitted through the halls, a gentle accompaniment to the hum of chatter, which grew louder as we neared the staircase to the upper levels.

A few maids were gathered in the hall, just out of sight from the stairwell, whispering amongst themselves. The head steward, Firmien, stood at the top of the stairs, ready to turn away those who would intrude upon the family’s private spaces, with Edmont and Haurchefant. My heart kicked into overdrive at the sight of him and I would’ve frozen on the spot if Alphinaud hadn’t kept on walking.

Firmien spotted us first, pausing mid-sentence, and inclined his head in our direction. Haurchefant spun around with an eager smile on his face, which quickly morphed into an expression I could only describe as awe. I felt my cheeks flame under his intense gaze and I smiled timidly at him. He cut a fine figure in that outfit of his, a jerkin of bright crimson over a black doublet, black trousers, and knee-high black boots. He looked so handsome and, I realized with a start, like his father.

The group of maids broke out into quiet giggles behind their hands in between shushing each other. I found myself pulled out of my brief reverie and glanced at them, a smile quirking at my lips. Ah, so that was why they’d gathered here. Well, we hadn’t disappointed, that was for sure. I wasn’t sure what my face had been doing but, oh, his was everything. And it was… No one had ever looked at me that way before, not even him, and that was saying something. It left my insides all in a flutter, different than the butterflies of anxiety from before. 

Haurchefant came to himself a moment after me and a brilliant smile stretched across his face. Ah, that was nice. Without even a glance at the maids, who were about to burst with delight, he started towards me.

Alphinaud cleared his throat quietly and withdrew his arm from mine. “I shall see you down at the party. Try not to take _too_ long.” The Alphinaud I knew a month ago would’ve been serious, condescending even, assuming he wouldn’t have simply ruined the moment altogether. The Alphinaud beside me now only gave off the impression of fond amusement, with some sincerity in his words, but no rudeness.

“Oh, hush, you.” I muttered without any bite.

Alphinaud gave Haurchefant a bit of a berth as they passed each other. They exchanged a glance, though I could not see Alphinaud’s expression, but Haurchefant seemed content with whatever he saw there, and returned his attention to me, eyes lighting up once more.

“My lady,” he greeted, placing one arm behind his back, and holding his other out for mine. I placed my hand in his and he bent to place a kiss on the back of it. A maid let out a particularly loud squeak, followed by an equally loud _shhhhhh!!!_ Haurchefant glanced up at me, lips quirked into a smirk, and he raised his head. “You look beautiful,” he murmured.

I smiled shyly. “It is a lovely dress, isn’t it?”

“Not half as lovely as the woman wearing it.”

I resisted the urge to duck my head.  “You clean up nicely, too.”

Haurchefant winked and then turned, offering me his arm in much the same manner as Alphinaud had. “Would you do me the honor, my lady?”

I nearly slipped my arm around his right then and there, but that wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to enter alone…and we were supposed to be _discreet_. If we were seen entering together, that would promptly go to the pot and stay there. So, instead, I placed my hand on his forearm and gave him a smile full of regret. He lowered his arm, expression dimming into one of resigned understanding.

“At the next party,” I promised. “And every one we attend thereafter.” 

He perked up again and nodded. “I look forward to it.” His eyes roamed across me once more, drinking me in once more without anyone’s eyes on him save mine, and he smiled.

A quiet, but meaningful cough interrupted us, and my eyes widened. I’d forgotten Count Edmont. I cautiously peered over Haurchefant’s shoulder at his father who had most definitely seen everything. Oh, if he hadn’t suspected there was anything between us before, he certainly did now. To my immense relief, he seemed neither upset nor surprised.

Haurchefant squeezed my hand once more then let go. “I shall be waiting for you downstairs.”

I nodded.

Haurchefant turned on his heel and strode towards the stairs with his head held high. “Fine evening is it not, ladies?” he said to the maids as he passed.

“Quite fine, my lord,” said one nonchalantly.

“Exceptional,” agreed another, completely blank-faced.

A third one giggled behind her hand.

Haurchefant flashed them a winning smile, eyes flicking to me for a brief moment, then descended the stairs. The maids lingered in place for a moment, watching him go, then two of them broke ranks. I recognized them from the group which had helped me dress. Faces flushed, eyes bright, grins too big, they converged on me, smoothing my skirts, adjusting the way my sleeves sat on my shoulders, checking my hair, and straightening my necklace. When they were finished, they stepped back to inspect their handwork, then stepped side and curtseyed to me.

“Thank you,” I said, paused, then added with a small grin, “Was it worth the wait?”

“Oh, definitely,” the elder of the two replied at once.

Edmont caught my eye and cocked his head to the side. Nodding to him, I took a deep breath and walked forward. He held up his hand to stop me, however, and instead approached me instead.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I nodded quickly.

He smiled in fond amusement. “Though you share neither our blood nor name, you are of House Fortemps now, and you stand within the halls of the Alicorn. You have naught to fear. So, I ask again, are you ready?”

I swallowed and nodded firmly. “I’m ready.”

“Good. Wait here until I announce you.” He turned to go but then paused, looking at me once more. “You are quite certain there is no family name you wish for me to declare instead? Once it is said, there will be no undoing it.”

I shook my head.  
  
“Very well.”

Names were important to Isghardians. One’s family name alone determined much of their life. Or, in Haurchefant’s case, a _lack_ of a family name, but even he still had a surname. My name, my real name, was long behind me. I’d not written it in Mother Miounne’s registry the day I joined the Adventurer’s guild, nor even on the passenger list when I’d sailed to Eorzea. Never had I expected to rise in fame as I had, nor become what I’d become. I’d thought I could simply be Vrochí…be Rain…free of any ties to my past save for those I chose. And now, now it was too late. Even if I wanted to announce to the world who I _really_ was, doing so would only place an easy target on my homeland for the Garleans, Ascians, and anyone else with half a mind and the firepower.

But to be Nameless in Ishgard was to be disgraced, for only those cast from their families were without a family name.

I had many titles. One more would make no difference.

Edmont cleared his throat then lifted his hand which was not holding onto his cane. “Good evening, everyone!” he declared loudly, and the hum of conversation immediately began to die. Even the pianist trailed off. He was quiet for a moment and I heard the sound of footsteps below as people gathered. “My fellow lords and ladies, honored guests, I thank you for coming this evening, and bid you welcome once more to our home as we celebrate…the unimaginable.”

Below, the party had fallen completely silent.

“Ereyesterday, Ishgard found itself gripped in a conflict, the likes of which our streets have not seen in many, many years. The Gates of Judgement thrown open to heretics with murder in their hearts who sought to lay waste to our homes and people. Yet it did not come to pass…and the news of the heretic’s retreat had scarce begun to sink in when it became known to all that the great wyrm Nidhogg was _slain_.”

“Praise Halone!” cried a man below and several others echoed him, followed by applause.

I smiled to myself.

Edmont allowed them to quiet down before continuing. “For one thousand years have our people labored that we might see this war won and now, at long last, the time for peace is upon us. Going forward, as we look to the future and what it holds for us, let it be remembered that it is to no daughter of Ishgard whom we now owe our very lives. My lords and ladies…I have little doubt you heard of her long before she set foot within our city, from those you have entrusted to lead your forces in the highlands. She walked our lands, risking life and limb to protect a people not her own, not out of duty, but by choice. She has fought and exposed heretics, rescued brave men and women, slain mighty dragons…and a rather notorious karakul, or so I am told.”

The crowd below laughed and I felt my face heat up. _These people and their godsdamned **sheep**._

Edmont waited for them to quieten once more before continuing on soberly. “These last few moons have been some of the darkest in our history. For the first time, heretics managed to infiltrate the very ranks of the Inquisition, where they proceeded to use the faiths of good men and women against them. The summoning of a primal, twice over, on Coerthan soil. Our steadfast wards were broken, our city attacked, twice over, soldier and civilian, the young and the old slaughtered indiscriminately. And now, the peace for which we have so desperately labored, is finally within our grasp, and ‘tis all thanks to one, remarkable young woman.”

“Ere she came to Ishgard, she and her comrades suffered at the hands of those who sought to tarnish her name and reputation, to extinguish the Light she brought to so many, for the sake of greed.”

An uncomfortable murmur swept through the crowd and I gritted my teeth at the reminder of my missing and fallen friends. At least, if nothing else, Nanamo was still alive, and Rauhban was free.

“And yet the woman who arrived was neither bent nor broken, and I saw in her a heart as strong as the very foundations of our city, and a Light undiminished by all she had endured.” The Count smiled. “As you all know, ‘tis the custom of our people that those who have performed exemplary deeds be granted an epithet which reflects their accomplishments and their character. She has many titles, many names, and it is my honor and privilege to bestow upon her another, one befitting her fierce heart, convictions, and the very warmth she brings.” Raising his hand, he declared, “And so, without further ado, it is my privilege to present to you the Hero of Ishgard, Nidhogg’s Bane: Rain Brightheart!”

Thunderous applause met his words. The Count smiled proudly and extended his arm towards me. Heart pounding in my ears, I took a deep breath and walked into view. The applause swelled and then came the cheers, the whistles, praises to the Fury, cries of my name, drowning out even my own heartbeat.

_Brightheart._

I stopped at the edge of the landing and clasped my hands in front of my abdomen. Below me, the room was filled from one end to the other with hyur and elezen in fine to extravagant dress, and I could see even more peering in from around corners and through doors. It seemed that every highborn man, woman, and child who had received an invitation had turned up tonight, as Edmont predicted, all of them to see me. I spotted Ser Aymeric and Lucia, both in their dress armors, in the middle of the room, smiling up at me. Estinien was nowhere to be seen—fashionably late, of course. Alphinaud stood at the bottom of the stairs, smiling and applauding as if he himself did not deserve even a modicum of credit for this accomplishment. Beside him, of course, was Haurchefant, positively brimming with pride as he clapped for me.

If only they knew, it was all for him.

Taking a deep breath, I gave a slight bow, then placed one hand on the bannister and began my descent to the ground floor. The applause continued, swelled even, the closer I came, and I felt my cheeks heating even more under it all. Haurchefant stopped clapping and held his hand out to me when I neared, and I placed my hand in his, letting him guide me down the last few steps. Then he offered me his arm and this time I gladly slipped mine around his.

The party resumed in earnest.

The house staff and servants had done a marvelous job preparing. Every surface was polished and shiny, every vase had fresh flowers, and even a few decorative pieces I did not recognize had appeared on shelves and the walls. Servants moved throughout the crowd in fine black and white attire with trays of little bite sized morsels— _hors d’oeuvres_ , Haurchefant called them—and glasses of wine.

Yesterday, I’d thought it ridiculous that an entire new dress be made for the party when I had perfectly good ones already in my wardrobe, but as I moved throughout the people, I realized just how necessary it had been. I’d thought I’d seen Isghardian high fashion every day as I walked about the Pillars. Ul’Dahn nobility were often seen in their finest clothing whenever they left the home. Being the closest to Ishgardian society, I had simply assumed the highborn from both regions acted the same way. Wrong. Oh, yes, Ishgardian ladies wore fine dresses every day, but they were but ‘common fare’, as Emmanellain had put it, next to the gowns they wore now. I saw satin, velvet, silk, and fabrics I couldn’t name, fur and leather trimmings, fabrics beaded so intricately that it must have taken weeks to complete. Long sleeves, short sleeves, thin sleeves, sleeves which poofed around their shoulders or biceps. Lace and frills, ruffles, embroidery, and other things I couldn’t name. Even the men, who all seemed to be wearing similar styles, boasted a variety colors, fabrics, and designs.

I took Alphinaud’s words to heart. Back straight, head high, exuding confidence. I _belonged._ They’d come to honor _me._ I was powerful, I was beautiful, I had a handsome knight on my arm. I had something each of them wanted and I was prepared to face them all. 

I’d expected to be mobbed by people wanting me to shake their hands, kiss their babies, and bless their houses, but I wasn’t. These people had appearances to keep up, after all, and there were apparently social protocols for parties with honored guests. I trusted Haurchefant to lead me through them. We made our way slowly across the ground floor of the manor and people approached us every so often. He introduced me to everyone by name, title, and to which High House they were of or owed allegiance, and I would curtsey the way I had been taught was appropriate for Ishgardian ladies (which was little more than a swift and slight bending of the knees). Their greetings for me varied from person to person. Some called me Warrior of Light, some called me Mistress or Miss Rain, a few even called me Ser, and some select few individuals…namely Lord Francel, called me Lady Rain.

Though everyone had manners and class, I quickly noticed a general attitude shared by those of or loyal to Haillenarte and Fortemps, and another shared by those loyal to Durendaire and Dzemael. Ishgardian politics at work, no doubt. The people of Durendaire and Dzemael treated me with complete formality and respect but, from many, this did not extend wholly to Haurchefant. There was something distant about them, too, that I couldn’t quite place. Those of Haillenarte and Fortemps, however, while still polite, were much more open towards me.

I hadn’t ever been to a party like this before, nor been a guest of honor, so I didn’t really know what to expect mingling with nobility to entail, but I hadn’t expected people to ask so many questions. And for the same questions to be asked so many times. Some were a bit too pointed and pressing, like what was my full name, how many dragons had I slain, was I _truly_ a Dragoon? Other questions were much easier, spoken with barely contained enthusiasm or eagerness by people who had been confined to their closed country, if not this very city, for their entire lives. Did I know many languages? How many places had I been? Why had I chosen to become an adventurer? Those I was happy to answer.

“How did you come to speak fluent Ishgardian?” asked a viscount allied to Durendaire.

“I don’t speak a word of it, actually,” I replied, and the strangest expression crossed his face. That took a bit of careful explaining, knowing everything I said would inevitably become common knowledge, but it wasn’t exactly a secret I had powers.

Not long after, Haurchefant passed me off to Artoirel while he went to prepare some plates of food for us from the buffet. The elder brother asked me how I was enjoying the party so far, if I was being treated well, both of which I was happy to affirm, though I confessed to being a bit overwhelmed by all the conversations. To my surprise, Artoirel understood my sentiments completely, and suggested we make for the solar where the people would be fewer and I could take a small respite by the fire. A fine idea if there ever was one.

He led me by the arm through the party, weaving amongst the clusters of people in conversation with an ease one might expect from a regular at a bustling market. He smiled politely to everyone who said his name but did not pause to converse. The Solar was mostly empty, save a few women I had yet to meet seated on the other side of the room, and a steward.

I sank onto the couch gratefully and let myself breathe deeply for the first time in half a bell at least.

Artoirel sat down beside me and sighed. “Here we are. Much better.”

“Much,” I agreed. “I’m _really_ not used to this.”

“It can be overwhelming. I can still recall my first party as a child, six years old, and from the moment I laid eyes on the party, I wanted nothing more than to return to my room. And I continued to want to the whole night.” He chuckled. “My attitude towards the matter improved over time, though to this day I cannot endure an entire party without a pause. Or two. Meanwhile, my brothers can’t sit still.”

“Yeah, Haurchefant was introducing me to _everyone_. I don’t know how he can remember everyone’s names. I can’t remember anyone I’ve met. Except Francel but he doesn’t count.”

Artoirel inclined his head. “I’m surprised Francel isn’t hanging off Haurchefant’s other arm.”

I laughed. “Why’s that?”

“He always did, every time Haurchefant was permitted to attend an event.”

I laughed again. “You’re kidding.”  
  
Artoirel shook his head. “Francel and Haurchefant have been the best of friends since the day they met…and one of his only for his entire youth. Not a day went by that they did not spend in each other’s company. T’was because of Francel that Haurchefant received his knighthood. He rescued him from kidnappers who sought to ransom him, alone, with naught but a hunting knife and his own arm for a shield.”

My eyes widened in shock. “He was…seventeen, right? And he faced down armed bandits alone?”

Artoirel smiled wryly. “Impressive, though at the time I refused to admit it. …I had yet to attain any titles or distinctions of my own, despite my best efforts. To be outdone by a younger brother, and not even a trueborn one at that, was shaming, and there were some who did not fail to remind me of it at every opportunity.”

I thought of how I’d first perceived Artoirel and suddenly…his behavior made a lot more sense. He had once admitted that he saw Haurchefant as something of a rival, though I’d failed to see how when it was he who was set to inherit the land, wealth, and power, and had the family name.

“And now?”

Artoirel smiled. “I hold him high regard.”

“Who?” Haurchefant asked. 

I nearly jumped out of my seat and only just held in the startled curse that threatened to slip out. He stood just a few feet from us with a plate in each hand and a curious smile on his face.

“You weren’t gone overlong.” Artoirel noted.

“There was no line.”

“And you found us rather quickly.”

“Strangely enough, people took notice of which direction the guest of honor went.” Haurchefant quipped, closing the distance between us, and sat down on his brother’s other side. “Truly amazing, I know.”

Artoirel rolled his eyes and held out his hands for one of the plates, which he then passed to me. My mouth watered at the sight of all the delicious food, most of which I couldn’t even name. We sat in complete silence, save for the sounds of Haurchefant and I eating quietly, with Artoirel sitting awkwardly between us. He cleared his throat once, but no one said anything, and he fell silent once more.  From down the hall, I heard the pianist end the song they’d been playing, and begin anew a few moments after, this time accompanied a string quartet in a merry tune that sounded less like background music and more suited for…oh no.

“Is there gonna be dancing?” I asked, mouth full of food. No one had mentioned dancing!

“Indeed,” Artoirel replied then sighed quietly. “And father has requested I dance with a certain few women.” He looked down at me. “If you would do me the honor, I should like to have at least one companionable partner this evening.”

My heart went out to him, it truly did, but I couldn’t help. “I can’t dance. Not the kind of dancing you’re wanting anyway.”

“Really?” Haurchefant asked, downcast. “That’s a shame.”

“And I can’t dance like we do at home in this.” I kicked my feet once to indicate my skirt then lifted one of the morsels on my plate to my mouth. “Sorry, m’lords.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Atoirel chided.

“Sorry, _Mom_ ,” I groused, mouth full. “Oh, look, it’s Francel.”

Lord Francel stood in the doorway to the Solar, looking right at us, with an elezen man and woman, both somewhere in their early fifties if I had to guess. He had fair hair and wore an outfit similar to the other men, with a deep green undershirt, and she, a redhead, wore a gown made from the same green, embroidered with gold, and with a skirt large enough to swallow me whole. They came towards us. Artoirel sprang to his feet and bowed low. Haurchefant made a sound like he was choking and quickly swallowed, setting his plate aside, and rose from the couch to do the same. I put my plate down beside me and rose to my feet as well, curtseyed with uncertainty. No one else had garnered such a reaction from either brother thus far.

“My lord, my lady,” Haurchefant greeted when they drew near.

“Haurchefant,” the woman replied warmly. “Artoirel.” She looked at me. “Warrior of Light.”

I smiled then glanced Artoirel and Haurchefant for help. It was Francel who came to my rescue.

“May I present the Count and Countess de Haillenarte. My mother and father,” Francel added with a smile of his own.

It didn’t occur to me until that moment that I had yet to meet either of them, despite having worked alongside their House many times. I bowed politely to them both and when I straightened, the Countess’s eyes shone with barely restrained tears. I didn’t even have time to react as she reached for my hands and held them between us.

“You are a blessing,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, “and I thank Halone for bringing you to us, for without you the Dravanians would have stolen another of my sons.”

I blinked, lips parting into an ‘o’ of surprise.

“Words cannot express my gratitude.” Then the Countess bowed at the waist, squeezing my hands in hers.

After a moment, the Count placed his hand on her back and she slowly straightened. “Nor mine,” he declared, “though I pray you will forgive our delay in conveying it, for circumstances prevented our paths from crossing until tonight. Nevertheless, we owe you our son’s life. We owe you, in part, for the reclamation of our lost Vigils, and more. Though I fear it will account for but part of the debt House Haillenarte owes you, you may ever consider yourself welcome in our home. Our hearth and table are yours to enjoy, and so too it shall be anywhere where the flag of Haillenarte doth fly.”

Stunned by their generosity, I stumbled over my words for a few seconds before I finally managed to tell them that I was honored. They seemed pleased with my response, the Countess in particular, who smiled at me in a way that made me suddenly ache for my mother.

“I am told you have a fondness for flowers, too, dear. Is that true?”

I nodded. “I’m a botanist, my lady.”

“Oh, how delightful! You simply must come visit the manor when you get a chance. We have a marvelous garden in the courtyard with every sort of rose there is.”  
  
“In winter?” How had they managed that?

“Ah, we have a…I believe it’s called a greenhouse in the common tongue. Sadly, our old garden was destroyed when the snows came. Dozens of plants, planted, tended, and enjoyed for generations, all gone in the span of hours.” She sighed, expression falling for a moment, and I grimaced sympathetically. Then she brightened. “But of course, with the greenhouse, we can grow and tend to most of the same flowers as our ancestors did, and outside it, we have plenty of winter flora as well! You must come and see.”

“I’d love to.” I replied with a grin.

The Count de Haillenarte left not long after, and took Francel and Artoirel with him, and told his wife he would be waiting in the ballroom when she was ready. The Countess de Haillenarte sat beside me on the sofa while Haurchefant and I partook of our reclaimed plates, asking me all manner of questions. Most of them I’d already heard tonight, repeatedly, and some I’d refused to answer before, but with such a genuine air about her and the ease Haurchefant exuded with her around, I felt comfortable answering. As she spoke, I learned that she had quite enjoyed Haurchefant as a boy, had been the closest thing to a motherly influence he’d had, which had caused a small strain between her and Edmont’s wife.

She was in the middle of telling me a story about Haurchefant when he was thirteen that had the man in question red-faced and trying to divert my attention elsewhere, when a loud voice boomed from the doorway, “THERE you are!”

Followed by a chorus of startled yelps from the group of women on the other side of the room.

It would seem Estinien had finally decided to show up.

“Right back at you,” I deadpanned. “Can’t you see I’m talking?”

“You weren’t talking, you were listening,” Estinien retorted. “And your absence has been noticed, by the way, you ought to go mingle.”

Right. I had to make a proper disappearing act within an hour or so.

That seemed to be all he wanted because Estinien turned and left without another word. I sighed.

“Oh, forgive me, I have kept you overlong.” The Countess fretted. “Well, I shan’t anymore.”

“But your story….”

“Ahah, yes, perhaps another time,” Haurchefant suggested quickly, rising to his feet.

The Countess’s eyes glittered mischievously. “Oh, yes, indeed. I have many a tale about the young Haurchefant. Ah, the shenanigans he and my son used to get into…”

Haurchefant looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor and I giggled openly at him.

Ooh, yes, the Countess de Haillenarte and I were going to get along famously.

Even though I had no plans on dancing, Haurchefant and I made our way to the music room, which had been cleared of its furniture to create a modest dance floor which was filled with couples waltzing away to the music. Was it a waltz? Was a waltz something specific? Hell, if I knew. With every step they took, they would flourish their arms and push themselves up onto the balls of their feet. There was a lot of in and out, back and forth, and gliding in circles with their partners and the surrounding dancers.

“What’s this dance called?” I asked, leaning close to Haurchefant’s ear.

“ _Gavotte_ ,” he replied. “Would you like to learn?”

I shook my head.

A few moments later, he laughed quietly and pointed into the crowd. “Oh my. Look.”

I followed his finger, expecting Artoirel or Emmanellain somewhere, but instead found…Alphinaud? I blinked. Rubbed my eyes with my free hand. Closed them tight. Opened them again. Yep. That was definitely Alphinaud. Dancing. With a fair-haired girl in yellow, about his age. I covered my mouth to hide the wide grin spreading across my face and giggled. Oh, oh, my gods, this was priceless! Tataru would be so upset she’d missed this. Thancred wouldn’t believe it.

“He’s quite good,” Haurchefant noted. He was flouncing in time with dancers around him, which I assumed was what ‘good’ meant.

“I didn’t know he could dance,” I murmured between giggles, though as a lordling, it made sense, as did him knowing an Ishgardian dance, considering the ties between Ishgard and Sharlayan which had only recently been broken.

Alphianud looked _happy_ out there, perfectly at ease. Enjoying himself, I’d say. …How long had it been since that had happened? Moons, probably. I certainly could not recall the last time. If ever. The realization was sobering. Alphinaud had been busy from the moment he’d found me in the church mourning the murdered Scions and in all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen him participate in any activity one might call fun or enjoyable. Gods be good, he was still a boy! He should be having fun, enjoying his youth, not toiling away for a realm not his own. He ought to be doing these things with his sister, too, wherever she was.

He was enjoying himself now, though. Finally. And it made me happy.

And the young lady, too, from the look of that smile on her face.

We stayed until the song and dance were finished, watching Alphinaud enjoy himself, and despite how much I wanted to tease him, just a little, I didn’t want to ruin his fun. So, we left the room and went to mingle further.

We found Ser Aymeric who was entertaining a crowd of mostly older men, some of whom had sheathed swords at their sides. Haurchefant quietly explained that not one of them was live steel, all simply for show, a sign that the bearer had achieved significant military deeds over the course of many years. Not wanting to be dragged into a conversation with old military men, I suggested we move on, though not quick enough, for Ser Aymeric finally spotted us in that moment and greeted us jovially. Actually, he seemed rather relieved.

I plastered a smile on my face and curtseyed to the lords, Haurchefant bowing beside me. The lords bowed in return and Ser Aymeric dipped his head.

“Hello, Ser Aymeric,” I greeted, walking closer.

Ser Aymeric smiled. “I was hoping for the chance to speak with you this evening. You look quite beautiful, if you do not mind me saying.”

“Absolutely stunning,” Haurchefant agreed cheerfully and I pressed my lips together in embarrassment. “More than usual, of course.”

“We were just talking about the prospective demilitarization of the Central Highlands,” Ser Aymeric said, and I wrinkled my nose a little. Really? At a party? “Have you any opinion on the matter, Lord Haurchefant? Lord Haurchefant commands the forces stationed at Camp Dragonhead,” he added for the benefit of those around us, “and recently led the purge of the Dravanian forces in the Steel Vigil.”  
  
A few of the men hummed in surprise and agreement.

Haurchefant pursed his lips thoughtfully for a few moments. “In my opinion, the bulk of House-sworn forces should be withdrawn, assuming this peace truly does last. With Eorzea to defend our southern border and the dragons no longer darkening our skies, our people could focus on rebuilding what we have lost these past six years, rather than struggling to defend what we have left. The Stone Vigil, once rebuilt, can provide ample protection the surrounding lands while the progress is made on the Steel Vigil.”

“When you say the bulk of the forces, does this include your own at Dragonhead?” asked Ser Aymeric.

He nodded. “Camp Dragonhead has always been intended to be a place to receive foreign visitors, house travelers, and protect the roads. Though we have made due with our circumstances, Camp Dragonhead was never meant to shelter more than a hundred souls. I think it would be a relief to a great many of us to be as we once were. Of course, the decision is ultimately in the hands of the Count, and I will abide by his wishes.”

“What do they call you again, lad?” asked a hyurian man with gray hair, a slight hunch, and one of those ornamental swords on his hip. “The Silver Sheathe?”

“The Silver Blade, my lord,” Haurchefant replied.

The man hummed to himself. “A silver blade is a blade unused.”

Haurchefant stared at him. Then my teeth snapped together with a sharp _click_ and I fixed the man with a fierce glare normally reserved for bandits and crooked constabularies. “A silver blade is a blade well kept… _ser._ I shudder to think of the state of blade of a man who doesn’t share the sentiment.”

The hyur’s eyes widened in surprise. Someone smothered a laugh.

Ser Aymeric cleared his throat pointedly. “My lady…”

I lingered on the man for a moment longer, then turned back to Ser Aymeric, smiling brightly.

“…I trust you are recovering well?” he asked, changing the subject entirely. I was confused for a second, then I remembered that his visit to the manor yesterday had been conducted wholly in secret, and as far as anyone knew, we had not spoken since before we departed for the Aery.

“Yes, I am. Almost all the aches have faded.”

“So soon?” an elezen woman gasped. “How?”

“Well, Nidhogg actually didn’t hurt me all that much. I mean, he got a couple lucky hits, but only really when I was focusing on Estinien. Honestly, I got more battered when we came back to Ishgard,” I added, trying to distract them from my fight with the wyrm before they started asking more questions.

“Yes,” a man’s voice said and a few members of the small crowd jumped in surprise then stood aside to allow the newcomer entry. He was old, older than the codger who’d insulted Haurchefant a moment ago, but he stood tall and firm despite his age, with a regal air about him, and something in his heavily lined face that bespoke sincerity. “I heard you were pursuing Lady Iceheart throughout the city.”

The people around me bowed and curtseyed to him, including Haurchefant. “Rain, may I present Count Tarresson de Dzemael.”

“Former Count,” the elderly man corrected, smiling at me. “My son now enjoys that burden, leaving me to spend my days as I please.”

“Crafting,” Haurchefant added.

“It’s its own reward,” Lord Tarresson quipped, then grew serious once more. “Is it true, my lady? You were pursuing Lady Iceheart?”

Ser Aymeric flashed me a warning look.

I inhaled through my nose. “No, my lord,” I replied, exhaling. “I was accompanying her.” A startled murmur swelled around me. People from outside our little group turned to face us, openly listening now. “I know what she’s done but we would never have found our way to the Aery without her. And when we learned of the attack, she volunteered to return with us so that she could convince her people to abandon their attack, knowing it could lead to her own death or arrest, which was why I took it upon myself to see she succeeded.”

Lord Tarresson nodded to himself and hummed once. “Well. I suppose that is that for now. Thank you for clearing matters up.”

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Well, yes. Who am I to question the motives of the woman who slew Nidhogg?” The old man shrugged his shoulders and mine damn near sagged with relief.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he added with a pleasant smile in Ser Aymeric’s direction, then bowed to me. “Lady Brightheart.”

Then he walked away without so much as a _by your leave_. What an odd fellow. …I liked him.

* * *

I’d completely lost track of time and when Alphinaud turned up at my elbow mid-conversation, I was more than a little surprised to see him without his dance partner.

“Where’s your new little friend?” I asked with a barely restrained grin.

A hint of color appeared in Alphinaud’s cheeks. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

“You sure? Blonde, yellow dress, about ye hi—”

He cleared his throat quickly. “One of the stewards has informed me that Tataru is awake. I thought it best we go and check on her together.”

There was no way in any of the seven hells that Tataru was anything close to awake. Which meant it was time for me to sneak out to meet Ser Zephirin. Butterflies erupted in my stomach. “Good idea,” I said, then turned to the woman we’d been speaking to, a cousin of Haurchefant’s and a member of one of the lesser houses. “If you’ll pardon me.”

“Of course, of course,” she said, waving her hand. “I’ll keep an eye on Haurchefant until you return.”

Haurchefant patted the top of my hand then slipped his arm free of mine. “I shall be waiting,” he promised. _Be safe_ , his eyes said.

Alphinaud and I made our way through the party as quickly as we dared and, thankfully, no one tried to stop us. On the way, I happened to make eye contact with Estinien, who was loitering near the buffet table, and nodded once to him. He nodded in reply then looked away. Alphinaud and I disappearing together upstairs might raise some curious eyebrows, but no one would suspect anything scandalous or concerning with us. The head steward had been replaced at the top of the stairs by one of the others, who stood aside for us to pass and bowed politely.

The head steward himself was waiting near the entrance to the servant’s stairs with a cloak, gloves, and a pair of warm boots for me.

“Be cautious,” Alphinaud murmured. “You mustn’t assume he is fully on our side. Choose your words with care and do not hesitate to signal Estinien if things go awry.”  
  
“Oh, come on, Alphi, this ain’t hardly my first covert meeting.” I reassured him with a grin, pulling the cloak around my shoulders. “I’ll be back before your pretty little friend even misses you.”

A hint of a blush appeared on his cheeks and he cleared his throat. “That is neither here nor there.”

“Mistress, if I may,” began Firmien as I sat down to change my shoes. “Ser Zephirin is known to be a just man, a man of honor and principle, deserving of his ascension to the Heavens Ward.  I do not fear sending you to him now but know that he may be forbidden to speak of that which brought him to you in the first place.”

I finished fastening my boots, stood, and nodded. “Thank you for your counsel, ser.”

Firmien dipped his head. “Good luck…Lady Brightheart.”

“Be careful,” Alphinaud pleaded.

“I’m not going to fight a primal. I’ll be fine, I promise.” I placed my hand on his shoulder and smiled as reassuringly as I could.

I slipped unnoticed out the servant’s entrance, glanced around to make sure the coast was clear, then pulled my cloak further down. The technique the rogues and shinobi used to disappear was a strange one, somewhere between something magical and something physical. Not a physical change, but not quite an illusion either, for those hiding beneath its shadow could still see each other. If I were to try and explain it, I would say it was technique which did something to the aether around a person to render them difficult to perceive. Difficult, but not impossible. The success of it, however, depended not only on the caster’s ability to manipulate aether adequately but their own ability to be unnoticed.

I’d learned how to sneak from V’kebbe in the rogue’s guild, the only rogue in the whole damn lot that could creep past a fully-trained shinobi completely undetected. (We knew. We’d checked.) She’d taught me the best ways to hold oneself, how to walk silently, and even how best to keep my hair for a skulkin’ job. _There’s somethin’ about red,_ she’d said, _what draws the eyes of coves more than any other._ Which was why I’d requested specifically a black cloak to hide my dress as much as possible.

The streets were empty save for a posted guard bearing the colors of Fortemps or Haillenarte here and there and none of them so much as looked at me as I crept past. The further I moved from the manor, the quieter it became, until I could hear naught but the distant hum of the Skysteel Manufactory and the wind. Snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground, forming a fresh dusting of white across the bushes and railings but not the streets, never the streets for some reason. Magic, probably. I felt at ease, despite the cold, almost safe. The faint sound of clanking metal reached my ears and I glanced up, spotting Estinien leaping across the rooftops. _Safer._  

I arrived at our meeting location first but rather than simply wait out in the open, I ducked between two tall bushes. Bits of snow rained down onto my head but I ignored them and pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders and settled down to wait, going over what I would say to Zephirin when he arrived.

Only a handful of minutes passed before a lone Temple Knight appeared on the arched pathway leading from the direction of the Jeweld Crozier. From his helmet, I knew him to be an elezen at once, but there was no guarantee it simply wasn’t a patrol, so I waited to see what he would do. Just as I thought he would pass the meeting place by, the Knight slowed, looking this way and that, then approached the balustrade and rested his hands on the ledge, just as I had the night we met. Invitation sent.

I crept out from the bushes, trying to make as little noise as possible, but inevitably the rustling of leaves drew his attention and he turned. I instinctively froze. He did not see me immediately, even from this distance I could tell his eyes passed over my form, still miraculously concealed. I raised my hands to my hood and pulled it down and, as anticipated, the change was enough to break the spell.  
  
“Evening, Ser,” I greeted as I had before and walked towards him.

“Good evening, madam,” Zephirin replied, his voice recognizable beneath his helm. “Though perhaps I ought to call you 'My Lady' now.”

I smiled. “You may call me what you wish. We’re friends here.”

“Friends?” he repeated with incredulity. “A bold assumption indeed. Did I not ask you to keep your silence?”

“And I did,” I lied smoothly, “but I needed to talk to you again. Aymeric was the only person I could trust to reach out to you discreetly. Or would you rather I have shown up to the Vault and begged a meeting?”  
  
Zephirin stared at me for a moment. “A fair point,” he conceded. “Had I known of the party, I would have waited until tomorrow. Will you not be missed?”

“Ser Aymeric is running interference for me, but I don’t know how long it’ll last. I’ll be brief.”

“Go on.”

I took a deep breath. _Here goes everything._

“I’ve learned…a lot these last few weeks. I’ve seen into the past through Hraesvelgr’s and Nidhogg’s very eyes…and I trust you will be reasonable about that,” I added sharply, “after all I’ve done for your people.”

“Of course.”

I nodded. “I saw for myself the ruins of the civilization your ancestors built with the Dravanians. I learned how the war began and why. But there was one question that never got an answer. Nidhogg has spent the last thousand years punishing your people and had intended to continue as long as he could. So why did he decide to throw everything he had at you now?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Zephirin asked.

“The only reason we were able to kill him before he launched his attack was because he was gathering his forces. He called upon every dragon on this side of the world and many from beyond his brood answered the call. Even _Midgardsormr_ woke up to join. He was going to burn the city, bury it beneath the abyss, and raze every last Coerthan settlement to the ground. Maybe even beyond your borders. He was going to _end it_.”

“How can you know this?” he asked.

“Estinien felt him through the Eye. Nidhogg cared about nothing but Ishgard, only Ishgard. Not even the bearer of his eye coming towards him. …And while I wondered why…I began thinking of your words. For even dragons may struggle to contend with primals.”  

I took a step closer to him. “You came to me asking about primals, like you were afraid of one. I suspected that night what was going on…but now I’m almost certain. It’s… _him_ , isn’t it?”

Zephirin was completely silent and still for a long, tense moment. I wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Then he jerked his chin down once and my heart took off at a gallop. I fought to keep my breathing even, even as fear coursed through my body and made my hands shake. I was right. I was _right_. Oh, gods above help me I was _right_.

“Halone?” I whispered, terrified of the answer.

He shook his head. Later, I would look back on that moment, and wonder how much of the _real_ Zephirin was still in there, fighting, clamoring, _screaming_ against the will of the primal now in place of his own.

“Wh—well who else is there?” I asked and then heard the sound of metal striking metal somewhere far behind me, and a single, fierce shout echoed through the night.

“ _RUN RAIN!_ ”

I gasped, whirling around. _Estinien_! I looked up but I could see nothing, only hear the _clang_ of two weapons meeting once more. The Echo screamed a warning in my mind and I turned once more, fire in my blood, just in time to see Ser Zephirin’s fist—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha fuck :D


	6. Waxing Gloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why is she gagged?” asked the Archbishop.
> 
> “She bites, Your Eminence.” Ser Zephirin replied dryly from somewhere behind me.

Rain was late.

Twenty minutes tops, she’d said. Any longer and her absence would be noticed and become difficult to explain away, even with Alphinaud as her alibi. Haurchefant had made note of the time when she’d left and spent the ten minutes glancing periodically at the clock, to the point where his cousin had taken notice and laughed at him, suggesting he go and check on her, then departed from his company.

Twenty-five minutes after Rain had left the party, Haurchefant made eye contact with his father in the dining room and inclined his head at the clock on the wall before shaking it. Edmont’s eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly and he jerked his head towards the stairs.

Twenty-six minutes after Rain had left the party, Haurchefant found Firmien and Alphinaud waiting upstairs by the entrance to the service stairway. Alphinaud looked as if he’d been pacing for quite some time and Firmien was glued to the window.

“She is not returned?” Haurchefant asked and poor Alphinaud startled so hard it was a miracle he didn’t fall over.

“No, my lord,” Firmien replied. “But she is only a few minutes late. I expect she will be along shortly.”

Haurchefant joined his old teacher at the window which offered just enough of a view of the road that they would be able to see her coming.

“Yes, but how long until her absence is noticed?” Alphinaud muttered.

Haurchefant grimaced at his own faint reflection in the window. “We are probably past that point, I’m afraid.”

“All will be well,” Firmien soothed. “You ought to return to the party, make yourself visible, and inform all who inquire that she is seeing to Mistress Tataru’s wellbeing. That should suffice to keep their opinions of her and sate their curiosities. I shall send her down as soon as she is returned.”

Taking a deep breath, Haurchefant nodded. “Thank you.”

Forty minutes after Rain had left the party, Firmien quietly informed him that he was needed in the solar immediately. Heart in his throat, he hurried to the solar, the door to which was now closed and presided over by another of the servants. With a look of apprehension, the man quickly opened the door just enough for him to slip through.

“—all the way to the fucking Brume,” came Estinien’s furious snarl as he entered.

Everyone in the room turned sharply at the sound of the door opening. Edmont was there, Alphinaud and Ser Aymeric, too, and not one of them seemed relieved to see it was him. Haurchefant looked around, half hoping to see Rain seated by the fire to warm herself, but she was nowhere to be found. Estinien was there, she was not. His hair swept into disarray by the wind and wet from the snow, and the fine black jacket he’d arrived in had a nasty rip across one arm, as if cut by a blade. And Alphinaud’s face, nearly white as his hair, was distraught.

“Where is Rain?” Haurchefant asked, his voice oddly calm. Funny, how calm he was in the face of a series of distressing facts which his brain was refusing to make sense of for he knew, he knew, the answer would be worse. 

“Son,” Edmont began slowly, raising his hand as if to placate him.

Estinien was not so kind. “She’s been taken by the Heavens’ Ward.”

“Taken,” Haurchefant repeated flatly.

“Captive.”

Oh. That…was…

_Oh._

For a few moments, Haurchefant was calm. And then he was not.

“And yet,” he growled, fear rising, morphing into anger at the only target available to him, “you are here.” He stormed across the room, fists clenched, and Ser Aymeric immediately placed himself between them with a firm warning.  Haurchefant was angry, furious, but not enough to get into a fight with the Lord Commander. Instead, he glowered over his shoulder at Estinien. “You left her behind?!” 

“I had to!” Estinien snapped. “I was ambushed and ere I had a chance to see if she had heeded my warning to flee, Zephirin had turned on her.”

“Then why did you not stop them?” Haurchefant demanded, stepping around Aymeric. 

“I was ambushed,” the dragoon repeated like he was thick. “I was outnumbered and hopelessly outmatched—I know not how!” he added before anyone could question. “And I know not why, but there was…there was something off about them. They were not—they were strong. Unnaturally strong. They chased me clear across the bloody city! I barely managed to give them the slip in the Brume! They are probably still out searching for me!”

Edmont put his hand on Haurchefant’s shoulder to steady him and they sagged under his touch, the anger fading, but not leaving, and instead a cold, gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach. Covering his hand with his mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut shook his head back and forth. No, no, no, this was all wrong. It was meant to be a simple meeting, an exchange of help, overseen by the city’s mightiest warrior. How—how—

How could Ser Zephirin—?

“You are certain they took her?” Aymeric asked.

Estinien nodded, running one hand through his hair. “It was a trap. It was all a fucking trap to get their hands on her. Maybe from the beginning.”

Aymeric shook his head. “We can make no such assumptions, nor do we have the time. If the Heavens’ Ward has truly abducted her in the night, then she is in grave danger.”

“B-but they would not hurt her, surely?” Alphinaud sputtered, looking between the adults with desperate hope. “Not after all she has done?”

“The Heavens’ Ward can do what they bloody like, so long as the Archbishop does not stop them,” Estinien growled.

“They will have taken her to the Vault,” Ser Aymeric said.

“And the Vault has a way of disappearing people.”

Haurchefant nearly choked on his own breath. “We have to get her out!”

Ser Aymeric turned to face him and nodded. “We will, I swear to you, Lord Haurchefant, we will get her back. I know not what the Heavens’ Ward have planned but they cannot hope to hold her for long, regardless. I will personally lead the charge against the Vault myself if it comes to that.”

“Have care, ser,” Edmont cautioned, “this is treason.”

“I am well aware of what this is and care not,” Aymeric snapped.

“And neither should you,” Estinien added harshly. “Or do you mean to abandon her?”

Edmont scowled, drawing himself up to full height. Though his days of fighting were long behind him and his physique was less than impressive before that of the Azure Dragoon and Lord Commander, the Count stood firm before both men. “I will do no such thing. Nor do I intend to allow anyone in this room to be arrested or worse in the process! We must exercise caution, or we will lose more than just Rain, and I cannot risk my knights in a suicide mission, not even for her.”

Aymeric dipped his head. “Nor would I expect you to, my lord. We will need more than the forces of a single house if we are to penetrate the Vault. The Temple Knights—”

The side door to the solar opened and all present whipped around in surprise to see a young man slip inside, shutting the door quickly behind himself, and turned. Everyone stared at the youngest Haillenarte son in disbelief as he strode across the room. Haurchefant was the first to find his voice.

“What are you doing here, Francel?”

“House Haillenarte will help you,” he declared without preamble.

“You were listening?!”

“Only near the end. Why was Lady Rain taken to the Vault?”

Haurchefant shook his head. “You cannot be here.”

“And you cannot simply charge in and rescue her with a knife and your arm,” Francel retorted, striding right him to his friend with his arms folded. “I owe her my life and you are my friend. Why are we discussing this?”

Haurchefant opened his mouth to object but Edmont beat him to it. “I admire your courage, son, but you cannot pledge your House’s forces. Nor is it any longer safe to discuss things, as you have proven, we can be overheard. We must wait for the party to end. In the meantime, Haurchefant, let your brothers know what has happened. Ser Aymeric, you and Lucia remain behind after the party is ended. And Francel, I will need your father was well.”

“And me?” Alphinaud asked quietly, looking smaller than he ever had in that moment, even than when he’d arrived in Dragonhead, freezing and weak, with nothing but a tarp for warmth.

Haurchefant had always found it easy to compartmentalize his emotions when there was someone else in need. Even now, with fear coursing through his veins and his heart pounding in his chest, he was able to push his own feelings aside and bend down to Alphinaud’s eye level. “We will need your help, too. You stay here with Estinien, put your heads together, and come up with ideas, plans, solutions, anything you can.”

“I—I—” Alphinaud’s eyes flicked back and forth for a moment, then he took a deep breath, and nodded. “I can do that.”

Haurchefant nodded too and he felt his own fear show on his face once more. “Good.”

* * *

 

Waking up after a potent sleeping spell was a bit like trying to swim through mud, especially if one was also suffering from a recent head injury, but oh man, was I getting plenty of practice.

The third time I awoke from a sleeping spell, my first thought was something like, _how the fuck do they keep doing that?_ It usually didn’t take long for one to build immunity to sleeping spells being cast in succession like this, and I was supposed to have a natural aptitude for fighting them off, but, hells, I may as well have been an infant for all I was capable of it.

My second thought was: I knew those eyebrows were evil.

I blinked several times to clear my vision then took stock of my situation. Hands: still bound behind my back. Head: pounding. Feet: bare – that was new. No other hurts. My eyes flicked around the room. From the high ceiling, I assumed the room itself was quite large, though I could only see a small part of it. There was a desk in front of me and on the other side of it, sitting ornate chair and openly scrutinizing me, staff in hand, was the Archbishop. Behind him loomed an elevated statue of Halone with her spear and shield, presiding over the room below.

 _If you give a damn at all, lady, you’ll come down from there and help me,_ I thought venomously. The statue, of course, did no such thing.

“Why is she gagged?” asked the Archbishop.

“She bites, Your Eminence.” Ser Zephirin replied dryly from somewhere behind me. I managed to smirk the firm cloth. Nearly took a chunk out of his hand when he was least expecting it. I would’ve succeeded, too, if they hadn’t pinched my nose. Nothing more than he’d deserved.

The Archbishop raised one (evil) eyebrow at me. “Well, I doubt she will be biting anyone for the moment, and I want her to table to talk. Remove it.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

Zephirin rounded the chair and gave me a warning look as he reached behind my head to loosen the binding. I stared him down the entire time but made no move to bite him again. The pressure on my mouth faded as the bindings came lose and I worked my mouth and jaw soundlessly to get proper feeling back into it. I considered spitting in his face but quickly realized there was no way I’d be able to work up enough saliva in time. That was fine. I’m sure I would have another opportunity if this night continued on the way it had.

“There now,” the Archbishop said kindly, “better, is it not?”

I stared at him, still moving my mouth around to dispel the numbness.  

“I apologize for any mistreatment you have received this evening…but I am afraid I have heard some…concerning tales regarding you. Or did you think I would not know you were meeting with one of my personal guards in secret?”

The urge to glare at Zephirin was strong but I kept my eyes on the Archbishop and stilled my mouth. He had all the power here and there was no point in denying it. Cussing, spitting, struggling—none of those would get me anywhere. There was only one form of protest left and, fortunately, it involved the very thing he wanted from me.

The Archbishop waited for me to reply for a few, long moments, and his brow began to furrow. “Ser Zephirin tells me that you come into possession of knowledge of a delicate nature. Information which someone…like yourself…would be inclined to disseminate to an audience.”

I blinked.

“…Do you deny it?”

No, of course not, but full glad was I that I hadn’t trusted Zephirin with all I knew, and who else did.

“Or do you intend to remain obstinate?”

_Yep._

“It would behoove you to speak when spoken to,” another voice crooned. That one guy who wore lip pigment, maybe. “Or we shall be forced to employ other methods.”

“Now, now,” the Archbishop interrupted, “I hardly think threatening her will motivate her to talk. Or do you think your flames mightier than those of Nidhogg, Ser Charibert?”

The mage did not respond.

I smirked, and the Archbishop’s face finally hardened into a scowl. “I think perhaps a more direct approach will be necessary. I have heard tell of the powers you wield, Warrior of Light. The Ascians insist you would be immune to my blessing…but I think perhaps not. I am not like those creatures summoned from the aether. I am a man ascending. I am more.”

The Archbishop slowly lifted his staff into the air and his blue eyes began to shine with an unnatural power. Not blessing, I realized, struggling in my binds for the first time, but Blessing!

_Fuck me it’s HIM! He’s the primal! Which means…_

I tore my gaze away from him and looked up at Ser Zephirin. He stood calmly beside my chair, looking almost pleased, as power swelled around his master. Oh, the poor man. He hadn’t betrayed me after all.

He glanced down at me and disgust flashed across his face. “Spare me your pity, woman.”

I felt a surge of concentrated aether swell around my body, but it didn’t touch me, it couldn’t, barred as it was by an intangible barrier around my very skin. I didn’t so much as glance at the Archbishop.

Zephirin glanced at me again. “I was a fool and so were you.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. Why did I bother? He was already gone. The aether swelled even more, almost cloying the very air I breathed, but it never penetrated me. I opened my eyes and glowered at the Archbishop, whose calm demeanor was beginning to crack under my stubborn refusal to just temper already. I could keep this up all night—he couldn’t. I smirked at him, worked up as much saliva as my poor dried mouth could spare, and spat at his face. It missed, of course, but the sentiment was there. His eyes blazed and the aether swelled a final time but I just continued to smirk at him. And then the pressure died, the aether dissipated, and the Archbishop’s shoulders sagged from the effort. He looked thoroughly annoyed.

Pain exploded across my face and I sat there, bent over, completely stunned. He’d—he’d slapped me! Zephirin! Recovering my wits, I bared my teeth at the tempered knight who was poised to strike me again.

_Do it. I’m ready this time._

“Enough,” the Archbishop rumbled, banging his staff against the ground, and rose to his feet. “It was my hope that we might be allies in the coming struggles, Warrior of Light, against our mutual enemies, but if you refuse to speak and refuse to submit, then you are no longer worth my time—but make no mistake I will have my answers.” To his guard, “Take her to a cell and question her. I would know all she has learned and the names of all she had spoken to.”

Oh, I did not like the sound of that. Zephirin nodded and reached for my arm but I jerked away, flashing my teeth at him, only to be seized from the other side. Shit, I’d forgotten about the other one! Charibert hefted me from the chair despite my furious wriggling and I lunged at him, coming just short of his throat with my teeth. I stomped on his foot and wriggled out of his hold—only to collide with Zephirin, who wasted no time in trying to loop that damned strip of cloth around my mouth again. I bucked against him but he was in full armor and imbued with some sort of supernatural strength, as I’d learned the hard way earlier, and I couldn’t budge him. Then Charibert moved in to hold me still while Zephirin secured my binding.

“Quite the wild little thing, aren’t you?” the mage commented with a leer. I snarled in his face. He leaned in, unbothered. “Fret not—I have plenty of experience taming beasts like yourself. Everyone has their limit. I am going to take great joy in finding yours.”

“You’ll try!” I snarled…or I tried to, anyway. I figured they got the point though.

“Charibert…” the Archbishop warned. Charibert frowned in annoyance. “…Not her face. We may yet have need of it.”

Charibert grinned.

“Perhaps by morning you will be more…amenable to my Blessing.”

* * *

Estinien hadn’t expected to return to this place again. Dragons were his prerogative, the House-sworn and Temple Knights could deal with the heretics. Coming here the first time had been a necessity and had ended in violence and bloodshed, as things always did with dragons involved. So focused on their mission had he been that he had been unable to appreciate the beauty of Snowcloak. Not that he had time for such things now but, nevertheless, he noticed.

Snowcloak was a mass of ice, snow, rock, crystals, and the Fury knew what else that had formed in the wake of the Calamity. Riddled with countless hidden tunnels, dangerous ledges, black ice, and a myriad of wild beasts, it was beyond inhospitable for Spoken-kind. It was also a tomb for countless poor souls who had tried to flee to the safety of Ishgard. Estinien was hardly a superstitious man but…by himself like this…he could not shake the feeling he was being watched. Judged.

Or maybe that was because actual living people had noticed his arrival and were tracking him. If they were, he had to give them credit, because he had no idea where they were or how many.

The path into Snowcloak from the Western Highalands was simple enough and memory served to guide him most of the way but when he came upon a large cavern with four visible paths, Estinien found himself at a loss. Last time, Rain had been the one to lead them through by some instinct or other. She had a lot of those. Estinien did not. Nor could he…quite remember which she had chosen. Bugger him.

Sighing, Estinien considered his options. He could pick one, walk a few minutes, and if nothing looked familiar, he could return here and try again. But gods damn it he hardly had that kind of time! And who was to say they were even in that bloody Amphitheater?! That they were in Snowcloak at all was merely Alphinaud’s hunch.

Then his ears detected a sound, faint, but growing louder with every passing second from one of the corridors to his left: footsteps. Estinien folded his arms and waited. After perhaps half a minute, a single man in armor, elezen by the look of him, appeared in the mouth of one of the tunnels.

“Only one?” Estinien asked. They were either very brave or very foolish. “Should I be insulted?”

“That you can see,” the heretic replied, reaching for his helmet, and pulled it over his head, revealing a fair-skinned man with dark hair, roughly Estinien’s age. “We did not expect to see you here…again.”

“The feeling is mutual, but it is a matter of grave importance. I must speak with the Lady at once.”

The heretic cocked his head to the side, looking him up and down. “Know this, dragoon: were you anyone else, I would have killed where you stand. The only reason I do not is that I witnessed you defending my Lady with your own body…and for that I will grant you your request, but only this once.”

“And should Iceheart declare otherwise?”

The heretic hummed wordlessly and beckoned with one hand. “This way.”

To say Ysayle was shocked to see him would have been a generous understatement. “Estinien?!” she gasped, rising to her feet beside the cookpot she’d been working. It was…an impressive setup they had, for a bunch of lawless outcasts hiding out in a frozen hellscape. They had shelters, weapons stores, crates of supplies, and multiple fires going throughout.

“What in the hells are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Forgive mine intrusion but I am come at Alphinaud’s behest…and mine own,” he admitted, “to beseech your help.”

She nearly laughed. “Again? I fear there are no more dragon lords I can lead you to.”

“Nay, my lady, tis your own army I would have you lead this time.”  
  
“Oh, really? And where to?”

“To Ishgard.”

What little conversation had continued around them as they’d spoke died completely, leaving complete and utter silence save the crackling of the fires and the clink of metal on metal. Everyone turned to stare at their Lady and the Azure Dragoon, some wide-eyed, others scowling, all in utter disbelief.   

“For what purpose?” Lady Iceheart demanded, her voice as cold and hard as her namesake.

“To lay siege to the city.”

More silence.

“What the fuck?” someone muttered.

Ysayle scoffed, shaking her head. “You jest.”

“Not in the slightest. We need your help. …Rain needs your help.”

Ysayle blinked quickly, worry clouding her gaze. “What’s happened?”

“She was abducted from the street by the Archbishop’s personal guard.” Estinien growled and her hand flew to her mouth. “They’ve had her nearly twelve hours already and there’s been no word from the Holy See. …I have nothing to offer you in recompense, any of you,” he added, glancing around at the crowd which had grown significantly in size. “I know she has likely killed friends of yours. I know she is no hero to you…but she is a…disgustingly good person and she risked her life to end this war. We need your help if we are to rescue her without another breaking out.”

Ysayle’s stared at him, wide-eyed, hand still covering her mouth. Her eyes flicked around the small crowd now gathered around them before settling on him once more. Her brow furrowed and she lowered her hand, revealing her pale lips set in a firm, determined line.

“Tell me everything. Now.”

* * *

 

When Lucia had advised they seek out the revolutionaries said to reside in the Brume, Haurchefant had jumped at the chance to help, despite Lucia’s warnings that his position as a nobleman’s son may harm the cause. Haurchefant hoped not but, truly, there was little else to do except accompany Estinien to Snowcloak but the thought of leaving the city now was unbearable. Nor could he simply sit idly or, gods forbid, rest as his father had suggested.

He’d heard the sordid stories surrounding several members of the Heavens Ward. Charibert, the former Inquisitor known for brutal, downright sadistic interrogation techniques, and a borderline unholy skill with fire. Grinnaux, a brute of unmatched strength, and possessed of an ugly temper. And, of course, Paulecrain, who had been cast out of Fortemps’ service in disgrace when Haurchefant was only just becoming a man. 

And his beloved was now their prisoner.

Abandoning his armor and forsaking his shield, Haurchefant donned a simple outfit given to him by one of the servants to pass for a common man. Alphinaud went to pick Tataru’s brain for information on these revolutionaries, for surely one in her position would have heard something of value, and Haurchefant half expected him to return with her in toe, awake, alert, and ready to fight the Heavens Ward with her own two hands. So when Alphinaud returned alone, having secured the information they needed, Haurchefant was stunned. It would seem Alphinaud was in possession of more sense than he’d given him credit for and had intentionally neglected to tell Tataru why he needed the information and she, as tired as she was, did not press him and gave him what she could: the name of the leader. The Mongrel. Armed with this information, they set out for the brume. Though nearly the 23rd bell, Haurchefant knew that the lower levels of the city never truly slept.

They made some inquiries, to no avail, for even though Haurchefant was not recognized as a highborn, he was clearly not a fellow of poor fortune even with his disguise, and he was in the company of a known outsider and ward of House Fortemps.

Alphinaud suggested he try speaking with the proprietor of the Forgotten Knight while he continued questioning the Brume’s denizens. Gibrillont, the owner, had recognized Haurchefant for who he was almost immediately, though seeing him come from the Brume entrance had been something of a shock, and very nearly turned him away for asking about the Mongrel, but when Rain’s name was mentioned, the older man said he would point him in the right direction.

Then he bid Haurchefant serve some mulled wine to a middle-aged woman sitting at a table in the corner with a younger woman. At first, Haurchefant was puzzled by this bizarre chore, but when the smell of the wine sent words tumbling unbidden from the lips of a maidservant called Hierytha, Haurchefant wondered. She told him of a girl pledged to a house as a servant who had found herself infatuated with her lord and bedded him, only to wind up pregnant. A familiar tale to Haurchefant, though the woman’s story did not go as his mother’s had, for upon learning of her pregnancy, the lord had cast her out into the streets.

Haurchefant returned to the bar, unsure and heartsore, and Gibrillont, well, he must’ve known exactly what sort of tale the woman would tell. “So the amorous nobleman beds his maidservant, then casts her aside when the seed takes root. Not the most original tale, is it? But neither is it your tale, my lord. Your mere station attests to that.”

Haurchefant considered ignoring the unspoken question but then thought better of it. He knew the story of his conception was little known but if Gibrillont could be trusted to guard the secrets of such individuals as the Mongrel, he could be trusted with this. Perhaps silently required it in exchange for further information. “My father loved my mother,” he said softly. “They were children together, friends, however, as they grew, so did their feelings. T’was my mother who chose to leave when she became pregnant and it was her decision to raise me away from Ishgard. She was frail for most of her life and in the aftermath the siege two decades past, she took ill. I remember not how they came to be reunited, only that she beseeched him to take me into his care.”

“And yet he took a woman who was not his wife to bed, with no intention of making an honest woman of her,” the barkeeper pointed out.

Haurchefant narrowed his eyes. “I will not excuse my father’s actions, for, yes, he did betray his vows, but of the people who yet hold his transgressions against him, many think his greatest to have been raising me in his home, as his son.”

Gibrillont raised his eyebrows.

“My life is as much his fault as it is my mother’s, but unlike her, he had a choice…and he chose to care for me, in his way. I cannot see how this is anything but honorable, even if I am to forever be a Greystone.”

Gibrillont nodded slowly, thoughtfully, and rubbed his mouth for a few moments. “Mayhap you think your circumstances unfair, your life made difficult by the name you were given, but know that there is not a soul in the Brume who would not kill for even a fraction of your good fortune.”

Haurchefant ducked his chin. “I know this.” The Countess had similar things to him growing up, though rather than as a lesson in humility, her words had been yet another form of abuse, reminding him that he ought to be grateful that she even let him breathe the same air as her sons. _It could always be worse_ , she would say. _You could be a Brume rat, like you should have been._

Gibrillont sent him there next, to deliver a bottle of the mulled wine to a priest who worked in the Brume. The man was nearly brought to tears at the smell of the wine and took a hearty swig of it right there in the street. Begging forgiveness for his rudeness, the priest told him of the woman who had once made wine just like it. The words fell from his lips, too, and Haurchefant learned that the poor woman had been a kind soul who worked tirelessly to provide for her child—a daughter—while still lending support to those around her.

Though both stories had been about the mother, they were beginning to paint a picture of the daughter as well. Left to fend for herself in the Brume, a half-breed child…a mongrel, if you will.

“Some bonds are thicker than blood…” Gibrillont ruminated when Haurchefant returned to him once more, “but blood still defines us—and divides us in the end. It's the legacy of our parents, Silver Blade, and we can't escape it, no matter how hard we try. …Though, I suppose, you know that better than most.” He smiled wryly. “Though you and your mother got the better lot in life by far. You defy your blood; the Mongrel and her pups chose to embrace theirs’—to proclaim it to all and sundry.  If you can understand that, then maybe you can find her on your own.”

Haurchefant nodded slowly, licking his lips. It wasn’t much to go on in the way of finding her but as to the sort of woman to expect, he had a very good idea. “Thank you for your help,” he said, rising from the stool he had been perched upon. 

Gibrillont raised his hand. “Hold on, before you go charging back out there, a word of advice: go home. Wait until morning.”

“I can’t. We don’t have much time.”

“You won’t find her tonight.”

“I have to try.”

The barkeeper stared at him, brow slowly furrowing, and he folded his arms. “When you say you come on behalf of the Warrior of Light…”

Haurchefant was certain that his heart had leapt from his chest and onto his sleeve, but he could not help himself. The thought of going back to the manor to wait idly was excruciating. He could not tell the man everything, for there were too many ears to overhear, but nor could he afford to lie. “The Vault,” he said simply.  

Gibrillont pursed his lips and comprehension flashed across his face, followed by alarm. Nodding quickly, the barkeeper let his arms fall to his sides. “Tomorrow morning, at the eighth bell on the dot, the Brume entrance will be unlocked for one minute. Do not be late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH BOY


	7. Silvertongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t mince words with me,” Hilda snapped. “Either tell me everything or tell me nothing.”

Haurchefant had scarcely slept all night, though he did try. He knew all too well the importance of sleep the night before a battle, yet he could not stop his mind from conjuring horrid possibilities. How could he sleep when she could be suffering at that very moment? Though he was sure some members of the Heavens’ Ward had honor, t’was not they who the Archbishop would entrust with containing Ishgard’s hero.

More like as not, they were trying to find out how much she knew…and with _Charibert_ there…. Every minute they wasted out here was another minute something horrible could be happening in there. He prayed to Halone that Gibrillont had a good reason for making them wait until morning.

He had faith they would breach the Vault—but what would they find when they did? He refused to consider the possibilities, he couldn’t, for the mere thought of finding her broken brought tears to his eyes.

How could this have happened? It shouldn’t have happened.

She should have been _safe._

He would get her out…even if it was the last thing he did.

Dawn found him hardly rested but on his feet and ready to return to the Forgotten Knight, only this time, he and Alphinaud had a third. Tataru, rested, refreshed, and positively livid that no one had told her what was happening until morning. There was also word that Estinien had returned to the manor perhaps an hour before, successful in his mission, and was currently resting.

Welcome news if there ever was any.

Haurchefant, Alphinaud, and Tataru arrived a few minutes early and found that the lower entrance to the Forgotton Knight was locked tight.

“If he said eight on the dot, he meant eight on the dot,” Tataru said simply, and pulled her coat tighter around her to wait.

When the bells of the church began to toll in the distance, Haurchefant heard the faint but unmistakable click of a lock being opened. Sure enough, when he tried the door, it opened easily, and he ushered his companions inside. A man, not Gibrillont, stood just to the right of the door, staring straight at them. He inclined his head towards the stairs wordlessly, then pushed past them to lock the door.

Haurchefant hadn’t been quite sure what to expect, though he had been hoping perhaps Gibrillont arranged a meeting for them. Alighting on the main floor of the tavern, they were greeted with an establishment utterly empty save for a single table near the fire, at which sat three individuals. Neither of the men were particularly interesting, a hyur and an elezen, both simple Brume folk from the look of them. The woman, however… At first glance, she appeared almost entirely hyurian, but her ears told a different story. Pointed, small, half elezen, half hyurian, easily concealable were she to wear her hair down, or maybe even the right sort of hat. Instead she wore her hair up in a high ponytail which put both ears fully on display for all to see.

_You defy your blood; the Mongrel and her pups chose to embrace theirs’—to proclaim it to all and sundry._

“Good morning,” she greeted in the thick, uncultured accent those of the Brume tended to speak in. “Hilda Ware. I hear you been lookin’ for me.”

“In—indeed we have,” Alpinaud stammered, as stunned as Haurchefant was. After all that fuss last night…

“Well, here I am. And who do we have here? Tataru Taru, of course, heard a lot about you.” Hilda winked at the lalafellin woman as they arrived on the ground floor. “And heard firsthand the other day outside this place. Got quite the pair o’ pipes, you do.”

Tataru giggled and climbed onto the closest empty chair at the table. “Tiny but mighty,” she quipped with a wink.

“Frightfully so,” Alphinaud agreed, pushing her chair in for her.

“And you obviously are the Sharlayan boy,” Hilda went on. “What an _accent_!”

Alphinaud’s face flushed. “I—I beg your pardon, I do _not_ have an—”

“Oooh, yes you do, love,” she crooned, then turned to face Haurchefant, who had silently taken his seat to the left of Alphinaud. “And who’s this?”

Haurchefant lowered his hood, inclining his head politely. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, madam, I am—”

“Well, well, _well_!” She slapped her palms against the table. “Pinch me, I must be dreamin’! We’re in the presence of one the _Lords Fortemps_!”

Haurchefant kept his expression pleasant, knowing full well he was being made fun of. She sneered at him and both men laughed unpleasantly. “Greystone, actually,” he corrected.

“Oh yeah? Silly me, how could I forget?”

Alphinaud cleared his throat and sat up straight, hands in his lap. “Pray, forgive me, but we’ve hardly the time for this.”

“Oh ho, is that so?” Hilda propped both arms on the table and rested her chin on her fits. “What’s got your knickers all in a twist, little lordling? Kick back a moment, have a drink,” she drawled, reaching for the mug in front of her.

“The Warrior of Light was abducted last night by members of the Heavens’ Ward.”

Hilda jerked upright so fast that she nearly knocked her mug off the table, the sneers slid off her cohorts faces like water, and all three revolutionaries gawked at him.

“We believe she has been taken to the Vault,” Alphinaud went on, “but there has been no word.”

“How do you mean abducted?” asked the hyur. “How the bleedin’ hell could a couple knights snatch up the lass who took out Nidhogg?”

“Deception,” Haurchefant replied, bitterly, “and numbers.”

Hilda narrowed her eyes. “More importantly, _why_?”

“A member of the Heavens’ Ward reached out to Rain for help some weeks past,” Alphinaud began, “on a delicate subject in which she was uniquely knowledgeable—”

“Don’t mince words with me,” Hilda snapped. “Either tell me everything or tell me nothing. What did she know?”

Alphinaud hesitated, caught off guard by her lack of propriety. “Very well. A knight of the Heavens’ Ward—”

“Which.”

Alphinaud looked at Haurchefant for permission. He dipped his head. There was no point in keeping such secrets anymore and, really, if it would help them secure their alliance, no knowledge was off-limits.

“Zephirin de Valhourdin.”

Hilda’s eyebrows shot towards her hairline for a split second, then her expression smoothed once more. “Alright, keep goin’.”

“He came to her for knowledge on protecting oneself from primal influence and how to save someone already corrupted. She believes, as do I, that the Archbishop has plans to summon a primal to win the war against Dravania. A primal we fear will manifest in the form of Halone herself.”

“But the war’s over now, innit?” asked the elezen man.

Haurchefant shook his head. “Not yet, I fear. The horde yet remains intact and Ishgard yet remains blind to the origins of the war. Until both are resolved, we will not know peace.”

Alphinaud took over then, giving the three revolutionaries a summary of what they had learned while in Dravania and how. As he spoke, Haurchefant could _see_ the very moment he lost the two men in a tumble of sophisticated words and jargon, but Hilda’s gaze remained clear and sharp, her ruby eyes fixed on Alphinaud with an intensity Haurchefant did not often see outside combat. He was beginning to see how she had become a leader of revolutionaries. She was rough, rude, and lacking respect—though, no, she wasn’t, really. She must have respected Gibrillont to have agreed to this meeting. She respected Tataru. It was he and Alphinaud she did not respect…because they had yet to give her cause to do so. 

…Yes, he could definitely see how she had become leader. And, really, she wasn’t all _that_ different from him.

When Alphinaud was finished, Hilda leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “So, while you were on your way to kill Nidhogg, you stumbled onto some dirty secrets that the Holy See has been hiding for centuries.”

“Eh?” grunted the elezen, “what are they on about?”

“The High Houses, and what makes a nobleman so _bleedin’_ noble. They trace their blood back to King Thordan and his knights twelve—the founders of Ishgard. But our new friends here reckon we’re _all_ descended from the heroes of eld.” Her voice dipped low, almost into a purr, glancing at Haurchefant. “Highborn and lowborn alike.”

Alphinaud nodded. “A fact that, while yet concealed for the time being, is now known to Lady Iceheart as well. It won’t remain hidden for long and when it does….”

Hilda grinned. “All hell’ll break lose.”

“Exactly. A civil war in the very streets.”

Tataru cleared her throat. “If I may, Miss Hilda. You have lived in Ishgard all your life. Neither Alphinaud nor I can claim as such, and you have lived a very different life here than Lord Haurchefant. That gives you a perspective that none of us have. So, I would hear it from you: do you believe the Archbishop to be the sort that would use a god to force his will upon everyone?”

“Yes,” said the hyur bluntly.

“Now, hold on.” Hilda raised her hand. “I know he’s a right old bastard but…. Is it true what they say about primals controlling men’s minds?”

“Absolutely,” Alphinaud replied. “Once a person falls under the influence of a primal, there is no hope for them. They start as…facsimiles of their former selves, almost completely recognizable, but over time, with more exposure, they will devolve into witless puppets, whose strings are only pulled taught by the commands of their master.”

“Then, yes, I absolutely think him the sort.” Hilda replied matter-of-factly.

Haurchefant exhaled in relief. “Then you understand the need for discretion?”

Hilda nodded, waving her hand dismissively. “Yeah. Look here, you two, not a word of this, to _anyone_ ,” she barked. “Not yet. When the time comes, you can bloody shout it from the rooftops if you want, but until then, keep hush.”

The elezen man nodded immediately but the hyur leveled Haurchefant with a suspicious glare. “How do we know he isn’t tryin’ to protect ‘is own skin?”

“My own skin matters little to me,” Haurchefant replied. “My first duty is to the people in my charge. I would spare them the pain a civil war would bring…and I would spare Rain from yet _another_ primal.”

The hyur grunted once and nodded. “Keepin’ hush, then.”

“So, now, we’re back to where we began,” Hilda drawled. “Why did they take the Warrior of Light?”

“She reached out to meet with Ser Zephirin again,” Alphinaud explained, “last night, in secret, to seek confirmation for our fears, and offer our assistance. I know not why but he turned on her…and what’s more, other members of the Heavens’ Ward were present, too, and they attacked Estinien, who had followed her in secret to observe and ensure her wellbeing.”

“ _Both_ Nidhogg slayers?” the elezen revolutionary repeated. “They’ve got stones, they do.”

“So, they snatched her up because she knew too much,” Hilda murmured, propping her elbows on the table once more, and pressed her mouth into her fists. No one said anything for a long moment while she mulled over everything she had learned.

“Did you know the Brume got set on fire during the attack?” she asked suddenly.

Haurchefant blinked in surprise. “I—I had heard, yes.”

“We dunno who did it—heretics, knights, a wave of each passed through, but nobody saw who did it. People banded together as much as they could but…there was a group in the West End what got trapped by burning debris. They had nothing, no magic, no snow, and no one close enough with either to help. They were gonna die. And then she dropped out of the sky, put out the fires, and got rid of the debris, all in a matter of seconds. Fitting name for her, Rain, wouldn’t you say?”

Haurchefant’s lips parted in surprise. She hadn’t mentioned that to him.

“Now the only thing I can think…is that she heard them screaming for help and came running. Jumped right into the middle of a mass of fire without a care for herself to save them.”

“That sounds like her,” Alphinaud said fondly.

“Aye?” Hilda nodded almost imperceptibly. “I’m not stupid. You’re here to ask us for help. We’re in.”

“Just like that?” Alphinaud asked with no small amount of incredulity.

“Just like that. Now, what would you have us do?”

* * *

 

The plan was relatively simple. It had to be, for it involved six large groups of people working in tandem, separately, with scant few hours to prepare. Lady Iceheart’s coalition of heretics, the Temple Knights, the House-sworn of Fortemps and Haillenarte, the Knights Dragoon, and the rebels of the Brume. Never had there been such an alliance in the history of Ishgard. Perhaps one day, the leaders of all would be able to come together in one room for peaceful talks, but on this day, they would fight together.

At a quarter ‘til three, the heretics would emerge and converge upon the Gates of Judgement in full force. Ysayle vowed they would unleash every manner of trick in their arsenal, all the Dravanian magics and illusions they could conjure. Anything and everything they could do to make a spectacle of themselves so as to lure out the city’s defenses without doing more harm than necessary.

The goal was to succeed with minimal loss of life and that meant forcing a majority of the city’s forces away from the Vault.

Ser Aymeric would deploy a wave of Knights and the High Houses would have no choice but to contribute members of their own House-sworn. Durendaire and Dzemael would, of course, send as many as they could while Haillenarte and Fortemps would only send a token force. The rest of them, along with Ser Aymeric’s most loyal knights, and the Knights Dragoon would converge on the Vault, fight through whomever they had to, and find Rain.

Hilda’s people would serve to expedite the process by circulating rumors of a force amassing outside the Gates before they actually did, thus allowing time for the Temple Knights to prepare and amass. Once the Knights and House-sworn were beyond the inner gate, the revolutionaries would keep them out for as long as possible. Though Hilda warned them, once the forces realized something was up, they wouldn’t be able to keep them out for more than a few minutes.

Nor could Lady Iceheart’s people afford to maintain their own charade for more than perhaps half a bell. Camp Dragonhead and Skyfire Locks knew to not send reinforcements and were to do everything they could to delay any who tried to pass through, but once Whitebrim Front sent in the calvary, they would be forced to withdraw.  

It was hardly a foolproof plan, held together by careful planning, some string, plasters, and hope, but it was all they had. With luck, the casualties could be kept to a minimum. Alphinaud was even optimistic that the charge on the Vault would end with little bloodshed once those guarding it learned what was happening and why.

At a quarter past one, word reached Ser Aymeric of heretics amassing beyond the Gates. Right on schedule. He immediately began to muster the Temple Knights.

…Then Sers Grinnaux, Paulecrain, and Adelphel arrived at the Congregation, proclaimed their authority in front of every man and woman present, and declared Ser Aymeric under arrest for plotting insurrection.

* * *

 

Ser Aymeric eyed the three men in white with barely-concealed distaste from across the war table in the atrium. Around him, his knights murmured amongst themselves in shock and disbelief, but he paid them no mind. None of them knew the truth. In fact, Ser Aymeric could count on both hands the number of individuals who knew enough of their plan to have divulged such details, and not one of them would have.

“On what grounds?” he demanded, silencing those around him.

Ser Grinnaux grinned, ugly and smug as he ever was, and raised his chin. “Your accomplice ratted you out.”

Ser Aymeric’s jaw clenched. No, nobody in their inner circle would have betrayed him, not even their uneasy ally, the Mongrel. No, she was the sort to fall on a sword rather than snitch to authority. Which, really, left only one person who could have possibly given them his name, and his heart broke. But the pain did not linger long, replaced instead by fury.

What would they would have had to do to make her talk?

“You mean the Warrior of Light?” Ser Aymeric growled.

“Ahah!” Adelphel crowed. “You admit it! You all heard him!”

Ser Aymeric leaped to his feet, shoving his chair back, and pointed an accusing finger at them. “And what sort of pain did you inflict to pry my name from her lips, I wonder?”

“Pain?” Grinnaux asked, too innocently. “Whatever do you mean? She gave you up of her own free will.”

“The same way Charibert’s victims gave themselves up, I should think.”

“What are you accusing us of, traitor?”

Aymeric raised his voice so that no one present could possibly mishear. “I accuse you of abducting the Warrior of Light, while she was unarmed and defenseless, before the eyes of the Azure Dragoon, whom you attempted to murder. I accuse _you_ of betraying Ishgard, and if you wish to arrest me, you will have to do so by force.”

He unsheathed his sword around him echoed the _shings_ of a dozen swords being drawn in suit. Lucia, Handeloup, Vaincannet, and more whom he could not see, all with their blades pointed squarely at the Heavens Ward. Even for men famed for skills in combat, such odds were not favorable.

“Your authority is not recognized here!” Ser Aymeric declared. “Begone now!”

“You hear him, do you not?” Adelphel shouted, turning in a slow semi-circle, and raising his head to address those Aymeric could not see. “The Lord Commander is indeed a traitor to the Holy See! But fear not, for you need not be! We will not hold you all accountable for his actions and should your loyalty to Halone and the Archbishop be true, you are hereby ordered to Vault! You will protect the Archbishop from these encroaching heretics…and who or whatever else may come your way.”

“And those loyal to _Ishgard_ shall remain!” Ser Aymeric shouted. “Now begone!”

Adelphel sneered at him, then raised his voice more. “But serve the traitor and you yourselves shall fall with him!”

* * *

 

In the end, they lost roughly half the Temple Knights to the Vault. No one told Haurchefant why.

(No one had to.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What sort of pain indeed....


	8. Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I want to go home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh 
> 
> yeah
> 
> **trigger warning** i guess. she got fucked up.

There were no windows in my cell. I had no idea how long I’d been there. Hours? Days? It didn’t feel like more than one or two. But time meant nothing, there was only pain and no pain. Awake and not. Alone, and with _them_.

I tried to breathe. Pain seared through my middle. Awake then. Again. I considered bashing my head against the floor until I passed out again. But I didn’t. 

I’d tried. I’d fought. Bit, scratched, kicked. Held my tongue. Refused to give them what they wanted. Called them every insult I could. I only made them angry. There was something _wrong_ with them. I shouldn’t have been so…ineffective.

Awake. Alone. Pain. Kicked, beaten, _burned_ , broken. I was sure at least one of my ribs was broken. Dried blood on my face, my hands, under my nails. Tired, so tired, hungry, thirsty, _pain_.

Memories trickled back in, sharp, jagged, too dull or too bright.

It was always the same questions. Who was Lady Iceheart? Where were the heretics? Where was Hraesvelgr? What did I know? Who had I told?

I’d—I’d said Ysayle’s name…and..

Tears of shame welled in my eyes.

Aymeric. I’d given them Aymeric’s name _._ How could I have given them his name? I was better than that. I should’ve been stronger than that but, gods forgive me, I’d just wanted the pain to stop. Fool, idiot, careless, _imbecile_ , I’d done this to myself.

_Oh, gods, Estinien._ Where was he? Had he escaped? Did they have him now, too? Tempered? They never said.

Did anyone even know where I was?

What had Haurchefant thought when I never came back?

My eyelids were heavy with dried blood and tears but I managed to crack them open. Four walls, a door, no windows, the only the light coming in a small sliver beneath the door. Cold stone. A bit of straw. Nothing I could use as a weapon, not even on myself. Same as ever.

Their words had stopped making sense to me and mine to them. That was probably bad. They didn’t like it. That made it very bad.

I’d tried summoning a carbuncle with my own blood for the glyphs, but I hadn’t finished in time. It made them angry. They’d taken my dress for it, my only source of warmth.

I shifted. Heavy chains still bound my hands and feet. My smallclothes were ruined, but still intact. I supposed I ought to be relieved they had not stooped to violating me as well.

_Yet_ , something in me whispered darkly. I shivered, inhaled, and pain flared once more.

_I want to go home_.

…

Sometime later…minutes…maybe an hour… the locks on my door were undone. My heart began to pound, my body recognizing the sound as a heralder of pain, even while my mind struggled into coherency. I fought to push myself away through the _pain_ but it was all I could do to wriggle a few inches in one directly as the door swung open with a mighty, terrifying creak. I flopped onto the measly straw, panting, aching, gritting my teeth. No, I would not flee. I was stronger than this. I would not give them any more satisfaction than I already had. No more names. They would have to kill me first. I turned my head to face my captors.

The Archbishop swept into the room, a vision of power and regality, his pristine robes horribly out of place in the dirty room. His staff _clinked_ against the floor with every step he took. Ser Zephirin followed, then Charibert. My entire body froze at the sight of him.

Of all who had taken a crack at me since I’d arrived, he was by far the worst…because he _enjoyed_ it.  Got off on it, I’d almost say.

The Archbishop tisked at the sight of me and spoke in Common. “And so she who brought Nidhogg low is brought low herself.”

I raised one trembling hand and flipped him off.

“Willful to a fault,” the Archbishop murmured. “I am impressed. But, alas, it would seem that the word is out, and if you refuse to cooperate, then you are of no use to me. I had hoped you would join me. After all, I, too, would see the Ascians felled in the end. …Hmm…perhaps—Charibert, Zephirin, lift her to her feet. I will not kneel in this filth.”

The knights seized me by the arms and hauled me upright and the pain was so intense I was surprised I didn’t black out. The Archbishop seized my jaw in his hand and jerked my head up. I struggled to turn away but he held firm and his eyes _flared—_

and the aether _swelled_

and I _gasped_

but none of it touched me.

I managed to smirk at him despite the tightness with which he held my face. He made a sound of frustration and shoved my face away. “Willful to a fault,” he repeated in disgust.

They released me without ceremony and I crumpled to the ground and the **_pain_** —

When I came to again, everything hurt, my chest was burning, my head felt wet, and—

Something small and blunt hit me in my stomach and I coughed and my head spun and my heartbeat was _deafening_ in my ears…

The Archbishop’s voice faded in and out, as if from a distance, but the words were gibberish.

_“—inutile—”_

_“—finis—”_

_“—allons à Azys La—”_

_“—rapidment—”_

_“—son visage—”_

_“—pleurer sur son corps.”_

_Clink…clink…clink…_

I exhaled on a sob and opened my eyes in time to see the Archbishop sweep out of the room, the sound of his staff fading away far too quickly, and the two men in my cell turned on me.

“Have you ever given thought as to how you might like to die?” Charibert asked me pleasantly, like we were discussing a vacation destination. 

Zephirin growled something in Ishgardian that made Charibert roll his eyes. He drew his sword and fear shot through me. I couldn’t fight. I had no weapons. No armor. Couldn’t defend myself from a naked blade. My aether was depleted from the strain of my body’s rapid healing for hours without nourishment. I couldn’t even flee. I was going to die here in this dirty cell, alone. The realization was more terrifying than I’d ever expected.

Zephirin’s boots clanked heavily against the ground as he approached me.

_Mama…Baba…_

Would they ever even know?

_Haurchefant…_

Zephirin pressed his sword against my side.

“Please don’t,” I whimpered, breaking my vow to not beg.

He drew back to strike—

I squeezed my eyes shut—

A roar mightier than even that of Nidhogg tore through the air, filling the cell, shaking me down to my very bones. I felt a surge of power and then came another roar, less mighty than the first, and I heard both elezen let out cries of shock, even fright. Metal clanging, something beating in the air, shrieks and screams, and blasts of something that sound like magic, the heat of **_fire_** _no no no no not again not again_ —

Heavy footsteps retreating, fleeing, fading…

Fading…

…

  
_“—up, mortal!”_

That…was my language…

_Snap!_

_Clang!_

My arms slid from my back, freed from their bonds. Something small on my arm, shaking it.

_“Thou MUST wake up!”_

Was…was that…?

_“Wake up!”_  Midgardsormr bellowed, shaking my arm fervently.

With a quiet whimper, I peered blearily at him from beneath half-opened lids.   

_“Up,”_ the little dragon insisted in my native tongue. _“Quickly, child! They shall return ere long!”_

I shook my head weakly. “Can’t…I can’t….”

_“Vrochí!_ ”

My eyes snapped open, surprise piercing the haze of pain and delirium. That was my name. I didn’t even know he knew it.

_“Thou cannot perish here, the world yet has need of thee. Thou **must** get up.”_

“I can’t…” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. “I’ve tried, I _can’t_ …I’m… you— _you!_ ” Anger surged up from somewhere. My eyes flashed open. “You let them do this to me!”

Midgardsormr’s face was as unreadable as ever. _“My role is to observe.”_

“You could have stopped them!”

_“I could have…thou art correct. And, thus, do I now offer thee mine assistance.”_

“I hate you,” I spat.

He glanced towards the door, ear flicking. _“Think on the time and place we met. The mirages to which I channeled power and strength? I can do the same now for thee. Thou wilt gain the strength to stand on thy feet and thy body shall become numb to the pain, but it will not last long. Less if thou art taxed.”_

My anger was like a flashfire, gone ere it had scarcely begun to burn, leaving me weak and afraid once more. Get up? I had to get up. But it was hard to imagine ever standing again, let alone walking out of this place.

_“Think of thy beloved.”_

Haurchefant?

_“He doth fight for thy liberation at this very moment. Hundreds fight. All will be for not if thou doth perish in this cell! Now accept from me this boon **and get on thy feet, Chosen of Hydaelyn!** ”_

He was offering me a chance. My only chance.

I nodded my head once. “Okay.”

He rumbled with a power and force belying his puny form and aether began to take form and color in front of him. It condensed into a thin line no wider than one of his arms, twisting, weaving, and stretching towards my body.

It was like being struck by lightning.

At the instant of contact, pure, unadulterated power shot through my body, filling every inch, every hair, every nail, alive, brimming, electrifying. Every hurt I had endured in the last day paled in comparison to that single moment and I saw white. 

I gasped for air…

And then it wasn’t pain anymore. It was just…power. Energy. There was no discomfort. It wasn’t at all like a limb falling asleep for it was not a lack of blood, or even a lack of feeling, but an overload of it. But I could move again. I could stand.

I sat up.

_“Carefully, Vrochí,_ ” Midgardsormr warned. _“Thou art not healed, nor wilt thou be when all finished.”_

“Okay,” I said.

I rose to my feet. My hands and feet were still in chains, but the rings between them had been snapped. I was free to move. Midgardsormr unfurled his wings and flew towards the door. The red chain of aether still flowed visibly between us and, alarmingly, I felt the beginnings of pain the further he got from me.

_“We must remain close_ ,” he rumbled, staring down the hall in the direction I assumed we would have to go.

The hallway was dimly lit by lanterns and full of closed doors identical to my own. I wondered if any were occupied. I’d heard no one’s screams but my own but who was to say mine had not been a sign of reprieve for another? I could not afford to search them. Hopefully someone else would later. I found a broom near the exit and I picked it up without a thought. A weapon.

I had no idea where to go but Midgardsormr seemed to, so I let him take the lead, guided by our aetherial tether. Running, I quickly found, was impossible, not because of pain, for there still was none, but I simply could not breathe when I tried. That meant something, I knew it did, but I couldn’t quite remember what. Everything felt…so strange.

The first few hallways we passed through were silent, empty, but in the distance, I could hear the faint, echoed sounds of many people talking, moving. Midgardsormr paid them no mind, until they abruptly got louder, and rounded the corner ahead of us. Three Temple Knights, their weapons drawn, heading in the direction of my cell. It did not take a genius to guess who’d sent them and wherefore. They halted when they saw me. Us? Could other people see him now?

One cried out in shock in Ishgardian. I must’ve looked awful. A second asked what sounded like a question. The third pointed an accusing finger at me, yelled what sounded like an insult, then dropped into an offensive stance with his lance pointed at me instead.

Midgardsormr rumbled a warning, which I echoed in a deadpan. “Move or we will kill you.”

They did not listen.

Midgardsormr lunged at the lancer with another roar more fitting to his old body. I took out the other two. I don’t remember how, with just a broom and they in full armor, but one minute they were rushing me, and the next they were dead, and I was panting and there was fresh blood on my hands. The lancer lay dead as well and Midgardsormr was licking his muzzle clean.

I dropped the broom and picked up his lance instead.

Somewhere above, there can came an explosion which shook the very floor beneath my feet and I stumbled.

“What was that?” I asked and Midgardsormr flew up to eyelevel.

_“That would be thy rescuers. We must move upwards. Come, quickly, before my power wanes.”_

We slowly made our way up, hindered by my inability to run and the people roaming the halls. We tried to avoid them for I knew the sight of Midgardsormr would provoke them, regardless of whatever feelings they may have towards me, and that our link would be damning in their eyes. I didn’t want to waste my precious time and energy fighting anyone I didn’t have to. With Midgardsormr’s ears, we were able to duck out of sight a few times. Other times, however, there was nowhere to hide, or we were spotted.

The sight of me shocked them but not one of them even tried to help me. Not even the healers. A young woman, nearly naked, beaten half to death, covered in blood in the middle of…wherever I was…and no one even so much as asked if I was alright. The mere presence of a dragon was enough to de-humanize me to them. Really, my stolen weapon and the blood were just added incentives. Yet, still, I tried to reason with me.

“Let me pass,” I tried. They wouldn’t.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tried. But they did.

“Help me, please,” I tried. They didn’t.

“Please, just let me go,” I tried.  …And then I remembered. I’d forgotten. The Echo had all but left me.

None of them knew what I was saying. They only saw an armed woman covered in blood, bound to a dragon, speaking in a foreign tongue. Oh, gods, how many would’ve helped if I’d _just remembered…_

By the fifth time, I was desperate. I’d fought and killed at least ten people and my strength had all but waned. Even directly beside each other, the connection between Midgardsormr and I was naught but a sliver. I could feel my hurts beneath the surface, lurking, waiting. The rush of power was gone and I knew, I _knew_ , if I fought again, that would be it for me.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I beseeched them in Common, hunched over from the strain, and gasping for air. Blocking my path were four elezen: two swordsmen, a man in black robes, and a man in white—too many, far too many. “They took me…hurt… You have to help me.”

And for the first time, I saw hesitation. For the first time, I had hope. Their eyes went from me, to Midgardsormr, to my bloody, stolen weapon.

“Please,” I pleaded again. “I’m the Warrior of Light.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Somehow, it was the wrong thing to say. My pleas thereafter fell on deaf ears. The man in black robes sent fire hurtling at me and I screamed aloud, flinching away from their heat, my mind flying back to hours in the cell with Charibert and the _burning—_

While I struggled with myself, Midgardsormr flew at him, going so far that our bond nearly snapped and I had no choice but to stumble after him to keep it intact. With what little strength remained, I Jumped at the closest knight and impaled him with my lance as I came down. His fellow swung his own lance and the blade sliced through my side as if it were paper, and, oh, I could feel again and _hurt_ —

Midgardsormr pounced on him and I turned my attention to the man in white, a healer, conjuring a healing spell at that very moment. He saw me coming and raised his cane to defend himself, conjure rocks to beat me with, maybe, but I lunged, lance outstretched, and pierced him through.

He collapsed and the lance went with him, slipping through my trembling fingers. I stumbled away from the bodies, feeling the blood from my fresh wound trickling down my side. Behind me, one of them gave a dying screech. I fell to my knees. Spent.

I didn’t feel the bond break so much as I felt the loss of it. What lingering energy keeping me upright dissipated like mist and left nothing but agony. I felt myself tilt forward but were it not for the sudden chill, I wouldn’t have known I hit the floor. Gasping for air, whimpering in anguish, I was helpless. Broken. I couldn’t even open my eyes.

I felt Midgardsormr curl around my head, press his head into my chin, heard him croon softly. He did not tell me to get up.

That was it. I couldn’t move. He had nothing more to give.

And…and… I could hear footsteps, clanking armor, and I let out a whine, which only made me hurt _more_. I knew as Midgardsormr began to growl, rising onto his little legs, ready to defend me as long as he could, that I was going to die here.

I thought of Mama and Baba, waiting forever for their daughter to write to them, to return. Alphinaud and Tataru, left to rebuild the Scions alone. My poor Bobby. And Haurchefant…so much unsaid between us.  
  
“ _Je l'ai trouvée!_ ” an unfamiliar voice bellowed. “ _JE L’AI TROUVÉE! ELLE EST ICI!_ ”

_I love you,_ I thought, wishing more than anything that I would’ve told him, and hoping, praying, that he knew.

Then I knew nothing more.


	9. Sentinel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Wake up,' he thought. 'Please.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's a picture of Rain that I had commissioned a few weeks ago](http://wintermoth.tumblr.com/post/183237153372/doodle-rain-wintermoth)! Have a look if you'd like ^^

He thought she was dead when he saw her body, completely limp, in the arms of a dragoon who sprinted for the exit. Her dress was gone, her hair a mess, her wrists and ankles shackled with broken chains, and what little parts of her not covered in blood were a ghastly shade of pale. A cry of horror sprang from Haurchefant’s lips unbidden and he rushed after the dragoon. He didn’t care what anyone thought, he didn’t care who saw, and he didn’t care what happened in the Vault. The Archbishop and his minions could wait.

“Is she alive?” he cried. “ _Is she alive_?”

“Her heart is weak, but it beats,” the dragoon replied.

Ser Aymeric had led a wave into the Vault himself but not before ensuring that every Temple chirurgeon not deployed into the Vault was outside ready to receive the wounded, no matter to whom they’d given allegiance. They were more than ready when the dragoon deposited Rain into their care and far, far calmer than Haurchefant. He refused to leave, only barely obeying their harsh barks to keep back while they secured her neck in place and then her body to the stretcher, which he was then tasked with carrying, along with a knight of Haillenarte.

They raced through the streets as fast as they dared with a chirurgeon running alongside the gurney, one glowing hand held over Rain’s prone form, towards the nearest hospital, one normally reserved for the highborn and the elite. He was grateful for the need to focus on his task, for as much as he wanted to look at her over, see the evidence that she lived for himself, the sight of her face alone broke his heart and sent his blood boiling. By the Fury, what had they done to her?

When they arrived at the hospital, they found what appeared to be every orderly and chirurgeon on standby. The chirurgeon who’d come with them rattled off some medical terms that Haurchefant recognized, even if he couldn’t explain, while they were guided to a room. Then Rain was lifted from the stretcher onto a bed and Haurchefant found himself shooed from the room. He gave the stretcher to the Haillenarte knight and bid him return to the Vault then leaned against the wall to steady himself. He ought to return to the Vault himself and help apprehend the Archbishop, he knew this, logically. He also knew being there would be his best chance to even the score—but, no. No. Rain needed him more, even if he could do nothing to help her right now.

He heard nothing from her room for the longest time except muted discussion between the chirurgeons, but he could make neither heads nor tails of what they were saying, nor did he think the orderlies nearby would appreciate it if he pressed his head to the door. Eventually he succumbed the urge to pace. Waiting had never been his strong suit, and this was downright tort—

_No, no, not that word, anything but that word._

There’d been burns on her arms. Tiny ones. Deliberate.

He paused, covered his mouth, and squeezed his eyes shut to banish the image from his mind. He thought instead of how she’d looked for the party. The dress which was mostly Ishgardian but just a little bit foreign, rich red, soft to the touch, and hugged her frame in splendid ways. The gems on the neckline, in her hair; the beautiful jewelry which was so unlike the odd assortment of strings, beads, and bones she wore from time to time. She had been absolutely radiant. He’d never seen her look more beautiful. How he wished she would’ve let him dance with her.

…She’d been in her smallclothes….

They’d _stripped_ her and—

He started pacing again.

Haurchefant was not a violent man. He was a good man, capable of violence when the situation called for it, but not violent by nature. He’d never let himself be. But the more he thought about Rain lying in that dragoon’s arms, on the stretcher—

Rain screamed, high and afraid, and Haurchefant bolted for the door without a thought. It banged open, startling the chirurgeons, and Rain screeched again. His eyes zeroed in on her immediately, thrashing on the bed. One chirurgeon had hold of her arms and another grabbed hold of her legs as he watched, and she tried to kick them off, tugging against the other’s hold as well.

“What’s wrong?” Haurchefant demanded, striding across the room. He had no idea what he was doing but everything in him was screaming to _help her_!

“You can’t be in here!” shouted a small hyurian woman, moving to intercept him. Haurchefant ignored her.

“OH HE!” Rain shrieked.

“What are you doing to her?!!” He lunged for the bed, only to be body checked by an elezen man with the build quite like a roegadyn’s, who whirled around as if he knew exactly what Haurchefant had intended.

“Ser!” he barked, physically shoving Haurchefant away from the bed. “You are out of line!”

“You are hurting her!” Haurchefant cried though it was nearly drowned out by her screaming those two words again and again.

“Remove yourself! Or you will be removed!”

Haurchefant looked over the man’s shoulder desperately. The chirurgeons at the bed were trying to calm her with their words, telling her she was safe now, they were helping her, but they fell on deaf ears. Rain’s eyes were open wide but disoriented, she probably thought she was still in the Vault! And the way she screamed—!

“Let me calm her,” he implored.

“No need,” the large chirurgeon replied gruffly then ordered over his shoulder, “Sedate her.”

“Yes sir,” the woman at Rain’s feet replied, pulling a small wand from her hip, and began to cast a sleeping spell.

Rain’s struggles faltered for half a second before abruptly resuming two-fold. “OH HE!” she screeched. “Fee yay! Ven tha key me tho!” 

Haurchefant’s eyes widened. She wasn’t speaking in Common at all! The realization that he was, for the first time, hearing her native language ought to have been a cause for delight, but that her ability to speak and be understood had vanished spoke volumes as to the gravity of her situation. It likely also meant that she could not understand any of the chirurgeons’ words.

“ _Ochi, ochi, ochi! Den tha koimithó! Voíthisé me!_ ”

“Sedate her! Before she rips her stitches out!”

“I can’t! She has sleep resistance!”

“She cannot understand you,” Haurchefant implored once more, “and she does not know you! Please, let me calm her, she knows me!”

The chirurgeon in front of him regarded him with indecision for a long moment. Behind him, Rain wailed once more in her language. Then he sighed loudly and stood aside.

Haurchefant brushed past him, unfastening the buckles on his gauntlets. He shoved them into his belt then gingerly lowered himself onto the edge bed, careful to avoid touching her wounded side with his armor. She continued to struggle against their hold, whimpering and grunting from the effort, but didn’t seem to realize that he’d joined her. From the look of her, they had removed the chains on her arms and legs and had begun the process of cleaning the blood away before she started screaming. Admittedly, the sight of all the blood on her had scared him at first, but now he realized that it couldn’t possibly have all been hers. Hmm.

He put that thought aside for later and placed his hand on her closest cheek, ever so careful of the discolored, swollen skin.

Her eyes snapped open, tiny slivers of gray just barely visible around her pupils, and he couldn’t tell if she recognized him or not. He tried placing his other hand on her other cheek and she squeezed her eyes shut, tossing her head from side to side to dislodge him, and repeated the word he was beginning to suspect meant ‘no’. But he wasn’t deterred. He had a secret weapon, the only word in her tongue that he knew, and the only thing he had that could get through to her like this.

“ _Vrochí_ ,” he murmured and her struggling slowed at once. Her eyes blinked open, this time focusing on him instead of simply looking. “ _Vrochí_ , _”_ he repeated, then said in Common, “Calm, my dear. You are safe, I promise.”

She stared blearily at him, twitching, tugging lightly against the hands holding her arms. “…Hau-haurche…?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me.” He stroked his thumb across the apple of her cheek.

Her eyes were well and truly fixed on him now. She seemed to struggle with something, her jaw working silently for several long seconds, then she whimpered, “Help.”

“You are safe, _Vrochí,_ my dear, I promise. I promise.”

Her eyes slowly began to fill with tears and she sobbed, body sagging against the mattress, while her neck craned towards him. He leaned closer, murmuring soothingly to her, and gently urged her to lay her head down. The chirurgeon at her head slowly released her arms and took a step back. Rain’s entire body relaxed and she leaned her cheek into his hand.

“Thank you,” said the large chirurgeon. “How is it that she could not understand us? This is the Warrior of Light, no?”

“She is,” Haurchefant agreed softly.

“I was under the impression she spoke fluent Ishgardian.”

He shook his head and kept his voice low and even so as not to alarm her. “She…does not. I believe Common would be best.”

Rain had calmed significantly under his ministrations and very well may have passed out. Stroking her cheek once more, he made to pull his hands away so the chirurgeons could work, but she whimpered again, loud and distressed, and he slid his hands right back into place. She relaxed again. “Alright,” he murmured in Common, “I will stay.”

Haurchefant glanced over his shoulder and the healers and shrugged once. Really, what else was he to do?

“Work around him for now,” the large chirurgeon ordered softly.

“Allow me to assist,” Haurchefant suggested. “T’would not be the first time I have seen to her wounds.”

“Ror, he’s filthy,” said the chirurgeon who’d been holding her arms, a petite elezen woman.

Haurchefant frowned at the blunt assessment but did not argue. He was in no state to even be in this room, much less touching her, and it would behoove them all for him to leave at once, but Rain had other ideas. Fortunately, she appeared to be drifting off properly this time.

“What she means,” the largest chirurgeon, ‘Ror’, cut quickly. “Is that the patient has many burns which could easily become infected—”

“No, I understand,” Haurchefant assured him. “Do what you must, I shall be out of your way as soon as I can. …How severe are her wounds?” he asked after a moment, dread twisting in his belly. A moment of silence followed, and he could practically feel their unease.

“Our initial assessment revealed two broken ribs and a punctured lung,” Ror finally replied, “heavy bruising, either a broken or sprained wrist, multiple burns of the second degree, various lacerations, dehydration, mild internal bleeding, and a fresh laceration to her side, and somehow, aether sickness, though I cannot fathom what could possibly have caused that.”

Haurchefant stared at him.

“It is by Halone’s will that she made it here.”  
  
_Not Halone_ , he thought, _Hydaelyn_.

She had told him that she healed quickly but even she must have her limits. He risked a glance down her body then focused on her face before he could become incensed. Swollen and bruised, it her face still fared better than other parts of her.  _My poor girl…_.

He stayed by her side for five minutes more while the wand-wielding chirurgeon cast a slow sleeping spell, meant to help her fall asleep naturally and stay there while they worked, or so Ror said. When Haurchefant was certain Rain was out, he withdrew his hands, gently laying her head against the pillow, and stood. She did not so much as twitch at his departure and he exhaled in relief. He was ushered from the room not long after.

* * *

 

It took nearly three days for Rain to wake up.

Haurchefant sat with her the entire time. Surprisingly, no one objected, so long as he kept out of the way while the chirurgeons worked and obeyed every instruction. Every few hours or so for the first day, a chirurgeon would come in to give her another round of curative spells and also reapply the spell that had her sedated, which they explained was to keep her comfortable and still while the other magics, medicines, and her own body worked to heal through the worst of it.

“She’ll be alright,” they would reassure him.

“She will recover.”

“The worst has passed.”

“The Fury watches over her.”

Alphinaud and Tataru were the first allowed into the room after Haurchefant. The sight of her in bed left Alphinaud visibly shaken and Tataru distraught. The lalafellin woman did not stay long, however, for she declared it was her responsibility to see to it that word circulated in the lower city that Rain had survived. Haurchefant wondered if she simply couldn’t bear to see her like this. Alphinaud, however, was loathe to leave, and sat with Haurchefant at her bedside for a long time. It was the first time they had been alone since, well, since Alphinaud had come into his room at Dragonhead and told him everything he’d never wanted to hear.

But this was not the same young man, not any more. The last month had changed him in ways Haurchefant had never expected. From the way he and Rain had acted before and during the party, he guessed they had resolved the issue between them that had sprung up as a result of his meddling. Haurchefant probed the topic and Alphinaud confirmed it, then offered his apologies to him as well.

Alphinaud came and went several times over the course of the first two days, remaining for hours before departing once more to deal with the outside world. From him, Haurchefant learned that the Archbishop and the Heavens’ Ward had fled Ishgard by airship before they could be apprehended. Beyond that, Alphinaud would not say. His final visit, around noon on the second day, was to but see if her condition was improved before he departed their city.

“Marshal Tarupin of the Immortal Flames has bid us join him in Ul’Dah as soon as possible for news concerning…those who did not escape the city with us.” Alphinaud’s face twisted like he’d eaten something bitter and Haurchefant sympathized. Such news had the potential to be as bad as it could be good. “If am not yet returned when she wakes, please say nothing on the subject. I care not where you tell her I am but say nothing of the Scions.”

“You have my word,” Haurchefant promised.

Tataru was in and out of the room more than anyone, each time bringing gifts from well-wishers who were not allowed in. Many had sent cards (written in Isghardian, he would have to read them to her) and some had little pouches with them containing candies or pieces of fruit. The Countess de Haillenarte sent a vase full of flowers from their garden. Gibrillont sent a bottle of the mulled wine he’d had Haurchefant delivering. On Tataru’s last visit before she departed with Alphinaud, she delivered one final gift: a thick quilt with floral embroidery.   

Aymeric came to visit twice, the first within minutes of Haurchefant being ejected from the room, to see for himself that she had indeed survived, for word had already spread that she had been found in grisly condition, surrounded by fresh corpses. The second time he was actually allowed into the room and he told Haurchefant of the prevailing relief that she had survived…but when he asked about the current state of affairs outside, Aymeric sobered and told him to only concern himself with Rain for now and let him handle Ishgard.

“…It should have been me,” the lord commander said before he left. “I should have been the one to confront him. He would not have….”

“Done this to you?” Haurchefant suggested shrewdly. “Do you truly believe that, Aymeric?”

Aymeric closed his eyes. “It should have been me.”

Estinien came once to see her, bringing along with the dragoon woman who had carried Rain from the Vault, Maenne. Francel came, too, though he had not the clout, relations, or death-stare to convince the chirurgeons to let him in, so Haurchefant had to step outside to speak to him. The Ironworks trio turned up as well, somehow bribing their way into the room by promising to overhaul the hospital’s alchemic facilities. Biggs and Wedge were shocked but it was the quiet fury radiating from Cid which concerned Haurchefant, though the man never spoke as to his reasons.

Haurchefant was _quite_ surprised when Hilda walked in on the second afternoon, casually as you please, and plopped right down in the chair that Alphinaud had recently vacated. Were it any other woman, Haurchefant would have risen to his feet, but given what he knew about her, he didn’t think the Mongrel would appreciate it. That didn’t stop him from dipping his head politely to her.

“Lady Hilda,” he greeted.

“Bite your tongue!” she scoffed, though she certainly looked the part. She wore her hair down for once and a simple yet fine black dress, a look which marked her as a woman of low-noble birth. “Though I suppose that answers the question on how she’s doin’.”

“How did you get in?”

“Simple: I walked through the door.” Hilda smirked at him. “When you act like you belong, people accept it.” 

Haurchefant let out a quiet ‘huh’ and turned back to Rain. He desperately wished he could hold her hand but the chirurgeons had forbidden it lest he interrupt the healing process. At least he was allowed to stroke her hair. It was better than nothing.  

“I heard you was keepin’ vigil in here. Truth be told, I expected you to be the one leadin’ the charge against the Archbishop. Chompin’ at the bit to get after him.”

“Madam, believe me, few things in the world would bring me greater joy. But I am needed here.”

“No, you’re not,” she said bluntly. “You’re not helpin’ at all just sittin’ around. If you ask me, your time would be better spent anywhere else. Don’t you lead an entire outpost or something?”

“Camp Dragonhead, aye, I do, but prior to this, I had made arrangements to be away for several days. Mine officers are more than capable of running things in my absence.”

Hilda clicked her tongue. “That was _before_ the military coup, all the high treason, and the Archbishop and his entourage fleeing the city. It ain’t pretty out there. Near half the city is in an uproar. ‘Course, you have yours truly to thank for keepin’ the peace in the lower levels, and for gettin’ the truth out. Not the _whole_ truth,” she amended hastily when Haurchefant shot her a look of alarm, “just to refute what the Vault said.”

“What do you mean?”

“…You—are you daft or do you genuinely have no idea what’s been going on?” 

“I, er, well, I have inquired as to the state of affairs in the city, but no one will answer me. Ser Aymeric outright _refused_.”

Hilda hummed noncommittally and clicked her tongue. “The Archbishop personally addressed those at the Vault not even an hour before we made our move, told them some cock and bull about the Warrior of Light being at the center of some moons-old plot to destroy the Holy See.”

“What.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned forward, spreading her legs like a man, and resting her arms on top of them. “What I heard, he accused her of being in league with the heretics all along, plotting treason, and that Nidhogg was actually still alive. Oh, and that the Azure Dragoon was being controlled by Nidhogg or something like that. Load of bollocks of course but people bought it…and those who actually _survived_ started spreading his story. Now some are saying that the heretic’s attack—which, by the way, went well, minimal casualties, thought you’d like to know—anyway, folk are saying that the heretic’s attack was them trying to break in to rescue her, and the Archbishop and Heavens Ward fled to escape a coup, and this was the plan all along. Ser Aymeric’s doing his best to keep the upper crust and the military calm and in check, and thankfully, he has the support of Fortemps and Haillenarte, as well as the entire bloody Order of the Knights Dragoon.”

“So, all truly is not lost,” Haurchefant mused.

“Aye, not quite, but there’s a lot of confusion and a lot of fear. Dangerous combination. …You did good, coming to find me. I don’t know what I would’ve thought of all this otherwise. Now I’m not pledging fealty or anything here, but you have my support in wherever this leads, so long as you swear to not forget me when we’re no longer needed.”

Haurchefant smiled at her. “Madam, I doubt I could even should I want to.”

She sat back, arms folded, mouth twisting, not disappointed by his answer, but not satisfied either. “Swear it.”

“On my honor as a knight—”

“Nah, ah, ah, ah, no.” She shook her head. “A knight’s honor’s worth less than chocobo shit. No, I want you to swear on something with _meaning._ ” She jerked her head at Rain’s prone form. “Swear on her.”

Haurchefant furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“Well, you love her. I figure any promise you make on her, you’ll be bound to keep, now won’t you?”

Well, she rather had him figured out, didn’t she? They really weren’t as different as their lives might make them seem. Rather, their similarities existed in their differences. He was starting to quite like Hilda the Mongrel.

“I swear on her life, for it is what you are owed, that I will not forget you.” He looked at Rain, a smile twitching briefly at his lips. “And I will see to it she does not, either.” Looking back at Hilda, “I cannot speak as to what my father or brother will do in the coming days, but for so long as I have a voice with which to speak, House Fortemps will not forget what you and your people did for us.”

Hilda dipped her head. “Suppose I can’t ask for more than that.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, Haurchefant watching the slow rise and fall of Rain’s chest beneath the blankets and wondering. “…Might I ask how you came to the conclusion of my feelings?”

“What, was it supposed to be secret?”

“A little.”

“Yeah, right, well, good luck with that.” Hilda fumbled with her skirts for a moment then slipped her hand into a small pocket in the side, withdrew a misshapen bundle of a peculiar shade of light blue, and held it out to him. “Here, add these to the collection.” She jerked her head at the table at the foot of Rain’s bed containing the presents.

Haurchefant took the bundle from her carefully and held it up for inspection. It felt like wool—why, it was a pair of socks! He rubbed his fingers along the material, peering closely at fibers. Not only wool, but fine quality wool, and though the dye itself was not one of the favored colors of the nobility, it certainly must have cost a pretty gil on top of the yarn. Though his eye was far from trained, he could see nary a stitch out of place. Made with care and made with purpose.

“Knitted by a Brume lass called Filli,” she explained, “asked me to deliver them in her stead since they’d never let her in. Rain saved her life the other night, from the fires in the Brume. Be sure to tell her, yeah?”

He nodded seriously. “Of course.”

Smiling, Hilda rose to her feet and rapped him lightly on the arm. “Be seein’ ya, milord.”

“And you, milady.”

She paused, turning to arch her eyebrow at him, and Haurchefant grinned for the first time in days, cheeky. “Easy there, mate, I’ve got a reputation to uphold. You’ll give people the wrong idea about me.”  
  
“Oh, well, pardon me. Milady.”

“Oh, shut up.” She strode (more like _stomped_ , he thought) for the door. “And consider paying your Dragonhead a visit. Everyone needs someone to look to right now and it’s your bloody job.”

* * *

 

On the morning of her third full day in the hospital, the chirurgeons discontinued the sedation spells. She could wake up now and would when she was ready. It was just a matter of time.

An hour or so later, Edmont arrived, having made the journey from the manor alone, much to Haurchefant’s chagrin. If the city was in such turmoil as Hilda had made it seem then his father had no business roaming about on his own. Not that Haurchefant said those exact words to him but he did manage to convey the point rather succinctly.  

Edmont smiled and approached the bed. “Fear not, my son, should worst come to worst, these old bones yet have some fight in them,” said his lips as his arm leaned heavily on his cane. “Though I should like to meet the man or woman who would dare attempt. They would make for interesting conversation…” He trailed off, sobering, as he laid eyes on Rain for the first time since the party. He seemed to age years in seconds and his sigh was heavier than the citadel itself.

Though most of Rain’s body was still hidden beneath the covers, her face was visible. Her normally earthy, warm complexion was faded, pale, and sickly, and the though the blood had been cleaned away, the swelling and the bruising around her eyes and cheeks reduced from the magic, they were still quite visible. Never had Haurchefant seen her so, not even after the Crystal Braves had their way.

“Has she awoken?” Edmont murmured.

Haurchefant shook his head. “She has been kept asleep to heal, but they are going to allow her to wake now, when she is ready.”  

Shaking his head, Edmont eased himself down into the empty chair beside Haurchefant’s and sighed again. “That the Archbishop would permit such a thing…I had my doubts about her claims but now….”

“She would have died,” Haurchefant said softly, “had we not gotten to her when we did.”

“I am sorry I did not come sooner. I have been doing my utmost to support Ser Aymeric in this time. Fortunately, as of last night, the task became far simpler, for Count Charlemend declared publicly in support of Ser Aymeric. Or, should I say, in support of the Warrior of Light, for whom he believes is represented by her own deeds rather than the words of the Archbishop.” Edmont smiled warmly at her sleeping form. “She is quite the woman. ‘Tis easy to see how she earned your devotion. …And I am glad to know that you can be counted on to maintain your duties even in times like this. Speaking of which, how are things faring in Dragonhead?”

Haurchefant took a moment to consider his words. Leaving the hospital yesterday had been difficult but necessary. The city was calm on the surface but he could _feel_ the tension in the air as he made his way to the aetheryte. “Dragonhead is holding steady,” he replied. “There has been some confusion as news of what happened hasn’t adequately spread throughout the country yet. The news was not taken well on all sides but I did what I could to put my peoples’ minds at ease. Mine officers are prepared to continue running the camp and overseeing the region for the foreseeable future. They will send word should a need for my presence arrive.”

“And so you intend to remain here until such a time?” Edmont asked.

“Did you expect anything less of me?”

Edmont gave him a long, measured look. “Haurchefant…you know her life is incredibly dangerous. She may well end up here again in the near future. Or some other hospital somewhere. You will not be able to forsake your responsibilities to rush to her side every time she is hurt. I trust you understand that?”

Haurchefant breathed deeply through his nose. “…Yes, m—father. I am well aware of what manner of future awaits us.”

“But are you, truly?” Edmont pressed. “You cannot follow her wheresoever she goes. You cannot fight at her side.”

“I know,” he murmured.

“You will spend many days and nights alone,” his father continued as if he had not said anything, “not knowing where she is, if she hale, or safe. If word of your relationship spreads, you will forever be in danger from her enemies. Not least of which, the Garlean Empire!”

Haurchefant ducked his head. He knew all of these things, he did, he thought of them in the past, individually, but hearing it all from his father made the lot of it seem…more real. Heavier.

“Any children you have will be, forgive me, halfbreeds with no family name to call their own. Not unless she chooses to give them hers but given her reluctance on the matter earlier—”

“Chil—father we haven’t even discussed such things!”

Edmont leveled him with a steady look. “And there may come a day when she simply…does not return. Do you truly think yourself capable of handling such a life?”

Haurchefant clenched his jaw, struggling to reign in his frustration at his father, their circumstances, all of it. “I thought she had your approval.”

“She….” Edmont sighed. “I admire and respect her for both her character and her deeds, but the last few days have served as a grim reminder of our reality…and hers. So caught up was I in what my eyes could see between you, they failed to glimpse the bigger picture. She is neither a good nor safe match for you.”

“I care not.”

“I know, which is why I must.”

“And who _would_ be a good and safe match for me, father?” Haurchefant demanded tersely. “Some woman from a lesser house somehow convinced to wed a bastard for her own good? A knight of similar standing who may perish any day? Some merchant?”

“You speak as if you have no good options available to you.”  
  
“Yes, well, you and Mother rather saw to that!” he snapped and immediately regretted it.

Edmont’s expression clouded with anger. “Have care with your words _._ ”

Haurchefant gritted his teeth then gestured to Rain. “And what of her? There is no safe match for her. She came to _me_ when everything fell apart. She trusted _me_ to keep her safe when she was vulnerable. Out of everyone in the realm…she chose _me,_ father. Would you have me turn my back on her?”

His father’s brow furrowed, anger giving way to indecision, but he said nothing. 

Haurchefannt looked down at Rain once more. “If all I can ever be is a home for her to return to and a rock on which she may lean, then I will do so gladly.”

Edmont was quiet for a long time. Haurchefant left him to his thoughts, watching the slow rise and fall of Rain’s chest.

 _Wake up,_ he thought. _Please._

Edmont sighed with a heaviness bespeaking of a weight far greater than only that moment. “I have always wanted what was best for you. I know cannot free you from the mistakes I made but it has always been my hope that I could prevent you and your brothers from repeating them. …Or did you not think it strange that Artoirel remains unwed at thirty summers?”

Haurchefant raised his eyebrows. Most men in Artoirel’s position would already have been married for quite a few years to ensure security and stability should tragedy befall the Count, as tragedy had befallen their grandfather. He had thought it a bit peculiar but never had cause to broach the subject with his father. Sating his curiosity was hardly worth the risk his own bachelorhood being called to the table. Though, if he was being honest, he’d had his suspicions….

“And look how that has turned out!” Edmont went on with a roll of his eyes. “One scarcely looks at women, one will not _stop_ looking at women, and you…” He sighed once more and shook his head. “I did not think you would be the first.”

“Nor did I.”

Edmont laughed once and his expression softened. “If your heart is set then far be it from me to stop you. I will support you in what ways I can. Loving her will not be easy but should you ever express doubts, I will remind you of this moment.”

“Thank you,” Haurchefant replied, relieved, “but first she must wake.”

“Should you wish, you have my permission to remain in the city for the duration of her recovery. Artoirel is more than capable of tending to any official duties in the meanwhile. He volunteered, as a matter of fact.”

Haurchefant raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “He did? Artoirel?”

Edmont nodded. “An ample opportunity to see firsthand the workings of House Fortemps’ oldest and most prestigious outpost, or so he put it.”

“Of course. …Thank you, father.”

* * *

 

Some few hours after Edmont left, Rain began to show signs of life. Little twitches, the faintest of murmurs, her eyes moving beneath their lids, and Haurchefant ran to fetch the chirurgeons. It was nothing yet, he was reassured, just a sign that she was finally coming out from under the spells which had kept her asleep. Soon, they told him. Soon.

He watched on all the while, waiting, hoping, silently praying to the Fury yet again to grant her strength.

When she did finally stir, Haurchefant was on the other side of the room pouring himself a glass of water, wondering if he could count on anyone to come by with food soon or if he would need to find something for himself. He almost didn’t hear the little mumble and it was so quiet that he simply assumed it to be a noise in her sleep but, still, he turned to look at her. Only to find her eyes open and staring blearily at him.

The air rushed out of his lungs in a single exhale and the cup slipped through his fingers, but he paid it no mind and all but flew across the room to her bedside.

“Hau…Haurchefa…?” she rasped with great difficulty.

“Yes,” he murmured, feeling strangely hollow. “I am here.”

With tears in his eyes, Haurchefant cupped her face in his hands, mindful of the bruising which yet marred her skin. She whimpered softly.

“Wh-where—?”

“You are in the hospital, safe.”

She was quiet for a moment, blinking slowly once, then twice, and licked her lips. “Safe?” she repeated, her voice so tiny, so hopeful. “…Gone?”

“Yes, yes,” he reassured her, leaning in close, “they are gone. They will _never_ hurt you again, I promise.”

Tears welled in her eyes and she nodded feebly, exhaling on a quiet sob. He leaned his forehead against hers, stroking beneath her eyes with his thumbs to catch the tears. “I promise,” he repeated, tilting his head just enough that he could brush his lips against hers. A soft, gentle reassurance. He hadn’t expected her to tilt her head up, to press her lips firmly against his. (Or as firmly as one could in her state.) She lingered for but a moment and then sank back into her pillow.

He nuzzled her cheek tenderly then drew back. “I shall return, dear one.”

“No!” she rasped, eyes flipping wide. “No, no—"

“I am not leaving, I promise, I am just going to call out to the chirurgeons.”

She took a deep but stuttering breath and nodded once. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, brushing away the few strands which had managed to slide out of place, then hurried across the room, threw open the doors, and shouted the words which half the hospital had been awaiting.

“She’s awake!”


	10. Deep Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My dreams were jumbled, flashes of half-remembered faces and chasing someone down a hall but never quite catching them no matter what I tried.

The first day or so was spent in a blur. I couldn’t stay awake for very long and when I actually was, everything was either too muddled or too sharp. I couldn’t decide which I preferred. I was aware of people coming and going, talking to me, to each other. There was magic, medicine, changing my bandages. Haurchefant. There was Haurchefant. Every time I opened my eyes again he was there, smiling at me with such relief and murmuring reassurances.

From what I gathered, there had been two significant occurrences since the night I was abducted.

First, a coalition of House Fortemps, House Haillenarte, Ysayle’s followers, Temple Knights loyal to Ser Aymeric, the Dragoons, and a faction of lowborn had banded together to free me and subsequently chased the Archbishop and his guard out of Ishgard. Something told me that was a problem…but I couldn’t quite…remember why…

Second, Alphinaud had found Y’shtola. I’d tried to pay attention then but, well. Something about her being lost in the lifestream. But Alphinaud and the Seedseers had rescued her. No sign of Thancred, Minfillia, Papalymo, or Yda yet, but Y’shtola would be joining us in Ishgard when she was well enough to travel.

I also learned that not only had Estinien escaped the Heavensward unharmed, t’was he who had rallied Ysayle and the Dragoons to my aid.

_…So many people…hundreds…_

It was hard to fathom.

_Have I really made such an impact?_

I pondered that for a while.

…

_So many gifts for me, too…_

…

When clarity finally came, I learned that Haurchefant had not left my side in all the days I’d been in the hospital. They’d been using some manner of weak but long-term sleep spell to keep me under while my body healed through the worst of the damage. Good thing, too, ‘cos I’d had enough pain. My memories of the… well. They were muddled. Hazy. But the pain…I remembered the pain. The rest would come back in time, a chirurgeon told me. Warned me, more like. I was in no hurry, thank you very much, but I had a bad feeling that I ought to be. That something was… I’d gone to Zephirin for information and I must’ve learned _something_ of value. I _had to_ have.

…Or it was for nothing?

Two days after I awoke, and gods only know how many healing spells later, they deemed me well enough to leave the hospital. Ordinarily, I would’ve been kept far longer, but apparently the hospital had had to be kept under a stringent, tight guard since I was admitted, lest someone try and attack while I was vulnerable. Something about a conspiracy theory the archbishop released gaining traction among his loyalists, of who there were no shortage. The manor was much easier to guard than a hospital and chirurgeons would be along periodically to check on me.

They carried me out of the hospital on a stretcher like the invalid I was and whisked me off in a wagon to Fortemps manor where I was summarily carried inside in the same way. The embarrassment was worth the comfort of my room and things and familiar faces. After I was settled, the entire family came to visit me over the course of the afternoon, all relieved to see me alert and recovering. The staff found ways of expressing their relief as well, though decorum prevented them from doing so verbally. Instead they told me in their smiles, the fresh warmed blanket they would bring every hour, the constant supply of food and water on my bedside table; the way they helped me wash and brushed my hair for me after.

Or…what was left of my hair. At some point during my captivity, a few sections in the back had been burnt or cut, likely an unintended consequence of—of whatever had happened. On top of everything else that’d happened, it was such a small thing. Maybe normally it would’ve bothered me but…I was strangely calm as I asked someone to send for Jandelaine.

Haurchefant was tired after a nearly a week keeping vigil with poor sleeping arrangements, but still it took Firmien himself to drag the ridiculous man from my bedside that night to sleep in his own bed for once. It was just as well, I fell asleep myself not long after. Everything was _exhausting_. It was ridiculous.

My dreams were jumbled, flashes of half-remembered faces and chasing someone down a hall but never quite catching them no matter what I tried.

When I woke up, it was still dark. The fire burned low in the hearth, bathing the room in a faint orange glow. I could scarcely make out the time on the chronometer across the room. The plate of finger foods that had been on my bedside table when I fell asleep were gone and only a glass of water remained. Hunger churned in the pit of my belly and I frowned. My appetite had yet to fully return since I’d awoken in the hospital but of course hunger would rear its head _now_ in the middle of the night when no one was awake and the food was gone.

I sighed, considering my options. If I could make it to the kitchens, there was probably at least something I could eat. Bread, an apple, maybe some cheese.

But could I make it?

I shifted my body experimentally, stretching each of my limbs one at a time, bending and flexing my feet, my toes, my fingers. Everything seemed to be in working order and there wasn’t any pain, so to speak, just an ache from being still so long. So, carefully, with my hand that wasn’t bandaged, I pulled my covers back and began the arduous process of sitting up unassisted, first with my core muscles, then with my elbows the rest of the way. So far so good. I swung my legs carefully over the side of the bed.

The sight of the blue woolen socks that covered my feet brought a small smile to my face. Made with care by a Brume woman called Filli, according to Haurchefant, one of the women whom I’d rescued from the fires on the night of the invasion. I would have to find her when I was better and thank her for such a thoughtful gift.

I leaned forward, putting weight on my feet—so far so good—and slowly stood.

Ahh, to be upright once more. It felt wonderful. At this rate, I’d be running malms in no time!

I took one shaky step forward, then another. And another. Slowly, unsteadily, but unfailing, I made my way towards the door. Maybe if I’d been thinking about it logically I would’ve known there was no way I could’ve made it to the kitchen before dawn at this rate but my brain was too caught up in the excitement of _standing!_ and _walking!_ to bother with such nonsense. There was no stopping me now! I was a coeurl!

Then when I was about halfway to the door, I was overtaken by an abrupt wave of dizziness which had me stumbling frantically towards the closest stable object: the chair by the fire. I grabbed hold of the back for dear life and sank to my knees, panting, and closed my eyes until it passed. Okay, maybe not a coeurl.

Ugh.

I gingerly rose to my feet once more and my head began spinning again, too. Well, so much for that. I hobbled around the other side of the chair and sank into it, closing my eyes once more, and focused on my breathing. Who would’ve thought something as simple as walking a few fulms would be so tiring. I—I needed to go back to bed. I could drink water. Wait for morning to eat. It was a bad idea, anyway. Only…I didn’t feel like moving just then, not when I’d only get dizzy again, and possibly keel over and get stuck on the floor.

I opened my eyes a little, peering at the dim fire, and sighed.

_PAIN—burning burning burning stop stop it stop stop I won’t tell **you can’t make me—**_

I gasped, slamming my eyes shut.

Fire.

Fire.

Charibert…loved fire…love to—

I lurched to my feet, ignoring the fresh wave of dizziness, and scrambled to put the chair between me and the fireplace. I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth. In…held it…out. _Calm. Focus. Find your center_. _Feel your Jin. Breathe and be calm. Just like Oboro taught you._

When my heart finally slowed, I opened my eyes and shifted onto my bum, leaning my head back against the chair.

Haurchefant had mentioned the burns, hadn’t he? The worst of them had healed by the time I’d awoken but I’d seen the haunted look in his eyes as he listed off my injuries. How awful I must’ve looked. Even though my memories were still jumbled and blurry, even though by all accounts I had more than half recovered already, I knew I should’ve died. Would’ve died if I weren’t the Warrior of Light.

Would’ve died if not…not for…

_—a deafening roar, shaking me down to my very bones—_

_—a voice, loud and insistent, speaking in my mother tongue—_

I closed my eyes again. I recognized that voice.

_—pure, unadulterated power shot through my body, filling every inch, every hair, every nail, alive, brimming, electrifying—_

_—stumbling through the halls not of my own power, covered in blood, begging for my life, killing—_

Midgardsormr. He’d done…something…. Given me something. Helped me escape?

The door to my room creaked open and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Haurchefant peered into the room, his eyes falling on my empty bed first and widened, only to notice me on the floor a split second later. He sighed in relief.

“What are you doing out of bed?” he murmured, stepping into the room, and closed the door.

“I was hungry,” I replied simply.

“Did you mean to make for the kitchens on your own?” he asked with an incredulous shake of his head.

“Would’ve done,” I grumbled.

He knelt in front of me. “But you were waylaid it seems.”

“Dizzy, more like.”

He tisked, shaking his head. “My poor dear. Come, let’s get you back into bed, and I shall go and find you something to eat.”

Haurchefant slipped his arms under me and lifted me from the ground without so much as a grunt of exertion and carried me over to the bed. Setting me down gently, he propped my pillows up on the headboard and pulled the covers up to my waist while I leaned back.

“What are you even doing here?” I asked, shifting against the pillows to get comfortable. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

He laughed once, almost sheepish, and his hands paused atop the blanket. “You will think it fanciful, but I was asleep…and I heard someone saying your name. A voice I did not recognize. I was concerned and so I came to check on you, and glad am I that I did.”

I smiled at him. “I’m glad, too.”

“I shall return in a moment, dearest. Do stay in bed this time.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” I groaned dramatically. He chuckled and quickly left the room.

I sighed softly, a smile on my lips, and rested my head against the pillows. I did not deserve him. Not in the least. It was nice having him around, though, and he would be here until I was on my feet again. Properly. How he’d managed to convince his father to allow it I had yet to ask, but I was grateful. There was no one else I’d rather spend my confined days with…no one else I trusted enough right now.

_…A voice, though, eh?_

“Was that you?” I asked aloud in case the dragon was nearby. “The voice?” Silence followed and after a moment, I sighed softly. Oh well. Maybe it was Halone. She owed me one after what she let happen in her church.

I was feeling drowsy when Haurchefant returned a few minutes later with a small plate of fruit slices and a slice of warm, buttered bread. I thanked him and he sat on the bed with me while I slowly made my way through the food, interspliced with yawns every so often. He would yawn, too, and I could _see_ the dark circles under his eyes from so little rest recently. I felt a little bad that he’d gotten woken up.

“Rain,” he said when I was nearly finished, “might I ask a question?” I nodded. “How came you to be free of your cell?”

My chewing slowed and I lowered my gaze.

“Do you remember?” he pressed.

I couldn’t tell him my suspicions, not now. Not yet. But at least I didn’t have to lie. “I—I remember…they were gonna kill me,” I whispered. “I remember…Charibert taunting me…I remember Zephirin…standing over me with—with his…”

Haurchefant slid his arm around my middle and I grasped at it firmly. “And then it was just…noise and pain and words and power…and…” I shook my head. “Sorry.”

“No, no, I am sorry to make you relive such memories.” Haurchefant squeezed my free hand with his. “The Archbisop and the Heavens Ward yet remain in the wind but we have eyes in the skies for leagues around Coerthas, Even with Nidhogg fallen, I struggle to believe they would dare fly into Dravania, and I am told that Ser Aymerc even sent missives to Revenant’s Toll and The Elder Seedseer, advising them to discreetly report any sightings of an Ishgardian airship south of our borders. They cannot run forever. We will find them…and they _will_ pay for what they have done.”

I hunched my shoulders, head bowed low, feeling a strange discomfort in my belly and arms. Weak. I felt weak. Ashamed. I fought back. I _remembered_ fighting back. But I may as well have been a coddled maid for all the good it’d done.

“They were strong,” I whispered without meaning to. “So strong. I don’t—I couldn’t fight them.” I looked up at Haurchefant, shaking my head. “Why couldn’t I fight them?”

Looking pained, Haurchefant lifted his hand from my waist and began to stroke my hair instead. “You were outnumbered, dear one, without weapons or aid, and bound. I doubt anyone could have won against such odds. The most important thing is that you survived. The Vault is known for—well. Many have disappeared into its bowels.”

I shivered. Had I even been the only one down there? Surely, they would have checked and freed anyone else imprisoned. Surely.

“But I didn’t—I mean—I remember…Ser Zephirin…no that’s not right I…”

“Shhh, no, do not strain yourself,” he urged. “The memories will return, though I think perhaps you ought enjoy the bliss of ignorance for as long as you can.” His fingers felt nice, soothing me into leaning against his chest, and his other arm slipped down to hold my waist.

“I’m scared,” I whimpered. “I don’t want to remember.”

He held me tighter and tears welled in my eyes, soaking into the soft fabric of his shirt. “I know, my dear, I know, but I am here for you. You are not alone, and we will get through this. Alright?”

I nodded into his shoulder.

“I could…remain here tonight, if that is your wish?”

Hell yes it was! But I paused, considering the logistics. There was no couch and I certainly wouldn’t ask him to confine himself to a chair _again._ The bed was intended for a single occupant…but were we to cuddle, we should be able to fit, and cuddling sounded wonderful. We’d just have to make sure I could lay on my back, or mostly.

I nodded again and Haurchefant stroked his fingers through my hair for a few seconds more, then pulled away entirely, stood, and walks towards the fireplace. I realized what he intended to do as he reached for the chair.

“No, wait, I meant…I mean, I thought you meant—”

Haurchefant turned.

“—the bed,” I finished quietly. Honestly, as if I’d make him sleep in a chair _again_. Gods how many nights in a row had he done that on my account?

“I did not want to presume,” Haurchefant replied, “but if you are comfortable, then I shan’t say no.” He returned to the bed and I set the empty plate onto my bedside table. “Lie comfortably,” he instructed, helping me lay my pillows flat once more, “and I shall work around you.”

Scooting as close to the opposite edge as I dared, I eased myself down onto my back then beckoned to him with a jerk of my head. Haurchefant climbed underneath the covers and scooted towards me on his side. I realized I was holding my breath and forced myself to exhale as his arm brushed against mine. He paused, watching me closely, then moved in closer. It took a few moments of careful adjusting but we managed to find a position which worked, with him on his side, me propped up slightly against him, and his arm around my waist.

“Comfortable?” he murmured. I nodded. “Good.” Then he nuzzled his face into the side of my hair and yawned a moment after.

“Sleep,” I told him and he hummed softly.

“Is that not my line?”

“I’m not the one who’s slept in a bloody chair for a week.”

“Ah, quite. You are much more comfortable.”

“Well, it _is_ a bed—”

“No,” he replied, nuzzling my hair again, “you.”

Sharing a bed with ones…almost-lover for the first time ought to be a significant moment but, for me, it really wasn’t. Maybe if we’d been less exhausted, maybe if the circumstances had been anything other than what they were, it would’ve been. But after the ups and downs our relationship had experienced up until that point, I was relieved that such an important moment was allowed to simply happen in peace and I could enjoy the feeling of his warm body against mine, the gentle rhythm of his breathing, and the comforting presence of his arm around me. I felt safe again.

* * *

Well, until the next morning, when were awoken by the arrival of my healers who were quick to scold the pair of us and kick Haurchefant from the room.

* * *

Jandelaine arrived later that morning with his usual grandeur and, to my immense relief, acted as if it was simply business as usual. He greeted Haurchefant and I jovially and even made a playful jab at Haurchefant’s hair by asking if we were _sure_ it was _my_ hair that needed his attention today?

Cutting my hair in bed wasn’t going to be possible, so Haurchefant helped me into the chair he’d pulled up to sit beside me while Jandelaine unpacked his things on my bedside table.

“So, madam, have you given any thought to what you would like?”

“I, well, not really,” I admitted, struggling not to fidget as the aesthetician removed the tie holding my hair back. I didn’t like not being able to see him, but I held my tongue. It was such a silly thing, really, I was perfectly safe, Haurchefant was right there, and I didn’t want to offend Jandelaine.

“Well,” he said slowly and began to comb his fingers through my hair, assessing the damage no doubt. He made a soft sound of disappointment and tutted. “It could be worse. Hmm, should we just give your hair a fresh restart? There are plenty of short hairstyles in fashion right now across Eorz—”

“No,” I blurted out. “I like my hair long.”

“Very well. Hmmm…”

He resumed combing his fingers through my hair, parting it, lifting bits to examine, and all the while my anxiety climbed. Haurchefant was watching me closely and I wondered if he could tell, if he suspected, ‘cos I had no idea what my face was doing, too focused on the area of my body beneath Jandelaine’s hands, and I _remembered_ —

_A firm hand on my neck, squeezing, choking, pulling me so hard and fast that I stumbled, not stopping, **dragging** me down the halls of the Ul’Dahn palace—_

Jandelaine’s fingers brushed against my neck.

_Heat, coming closer, closer, say nothing say nothing I won’t give them up I can’t— **pain, grabbing, searing, burning burning burning my neck—**_

I gasped aloud and jerked away from his touch, hunching over to protect my bandaged neck as much as possible. There was a burn under there, shaped like a handprint, I just knew it.

“Oh gracious!” Jandelaine cried in alarm.

Then Haurchefant was in my personal space, his hands on my arms, then my face, holding me securely. “Are you hurt?”

It took me a moment to process the question. _Hurt? No. N-not anymore._ Breathing quickly, I shook my head. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic, he’d barely touched me and I was freaking out. Ridiculous, stupid—

“I am terribly sorry!” Jandelaine exclaimed.

“No,” I blurted out for the second time. “ _I’m_ sorry I—I—can we go to the bathroom instead?”

 _So I can see where your hands are?_ I added silently.

Jandelaine was quiet for a moment. “Can you make it to the bathroom?” Doubt laced his words.

“Certainly!” Haurchefant replied. “I can carry her.”

And carry me he did, scooping me into his arms like I was a child rather than a woman almost his size. Come to think of it, the Heavens Ward had had little difficulty hauling me around even though I was fighting them every step of the way. Maybe it was just an Elezen thing? …No, no, it couldn’t be. I felt the way he held me—careful, so careful—and the precision in his movements as he navigated us to the bathroom, with me holding as still as possible. But if I were to start thrashing, biting, he would be hard pressed to keep his grip on me.

There it was again, a strange, nagging feeling that I was forgetting something important.

Haurchefant set me in the chair in front of the vanity and then helped Jandelaine carry his things into the bathroom. Once he was settled, Jandelaine began the process of combing through my hair again, but this time with a pair of combs and I could tell from his movements that he was taking care not to touch my neck. I appreciated it, almost as much as I appreciated being able to see what he was doing.

“So, you wish to keep it long, correct?” the aesthetician said, breaking the silence.

“Yes.”

“Well, then, you are quite fortunate. From here—” he held up a portion of my hair for me to see, placing his fingers at a certain point a about five ilms above the edge “—down must go, I fear, but we need not go any shorter.”

I nodded once. “That’ll be good, thank you.”

“Would you like layers? Bangs or anything of the sort?”

I shook my head. “I like to be able to pull it up and be done with it.”

“Understandable, of course.” Jandelaine replied with a nod. “Very well. Sit back, madam, and prepare to be amazed!”


	11. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I decided to keep you company. …If you would like?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this took way too fucking long and i have no excuse worth a damn :'D

Ishgardian chirurgeons, on the whole, turned their noses up at battle magic except when otherwise necessary. Despite a thousand years of war, the healers of Ishgard had never allowed themselves to forget the basics of healing magic. Curative magic was best administered in controlled doses over time to help the body to heal itself apace, rather than _forcing_ it to. Though the body could handle intensive healing magic, too much of it would, over time, lead to detrimental effects on the body, even _immunity_ to magic. Better to let their knights spend a bit longer in recovery than that. As their patient, I was to be subject to this philosophy, and spend a good deal longer in bed than I’d like.

On my second day back in the manor, the chirurgeon first visited in the morning after breakfast and then again in the evening after supper. Madame Raleil, she bid me call her. I recognized her from the hospital and, more importantly, trusted her. Haurchefant wasn’t allowed to be present for either of her visits, for each required me to be stripped to my smallclothes so she could change my bandages and have direct access to my skin with her magic.

“Your wounds are healing nicely,” Madame noted as the pleasant warmth of a healing spell slid out from the palm of her calloused hand which rested lightly between my shoulder blades. “And your aether flow is returning to normal.”

Returning, but not quite there yet. I knew, though she did not, that the flow of aether within me was struggling to flow as it should. The stress of everything I’d endured had left blocks within me which restricted the flow, like a hunk of mud in a small creak. The water would wear it down eventually but until then, the flow wouldn’t be quite right. Conjury was able to give her a sense of what my aether was doing but my shinobi training had given me techniques to gauge my aether, my Jin, myself.

I couldn’t even perform the easiest of the mudras and I’d tried them all. I hadn’t even managed to summon the little rabbit spirit. 

“What was your pain like today?” she asked.

“Not bad. They’ve been taking good care of me.”

“Oh, I imagine so.” She withdrew her hand and the magic with it. “House Fortemps is known for their generosity. Although…” Leaning around my shoulder, she gave me a rather pointed look. “I am quite certain the famed Fortemps altruism is not what keeps that lord knight at your bedside. Truth be told, I can’t keep all the noble families’ children straight. Which son is he?”

I hesitated for a moment. I liked Madame Raleil quite a bit just from the short time we’d had together and, really, I did not want my opinion of her to sour. “The middle son,” I answered instead and, really, it wasn’t even a _lie_.

The older woman hummed contemplatively. “Well, you shan’t become the next Countess, but at the very least, you shall have one dedicated husband. Just so long as he keeps his hands to himself while you are recovering. And the rest of him as well.”

I started to sputter but the chirurgeon gave me a dry look. “I do not want to come ‘round on the morrow and find you two in bed together again!” she told me with a stern wag of her finger. “It is too small.”

I paused, replayed her words in my head, and blinked once. “Is _that_ all?”

“Of course! You don’t strike me as the sort to engage in certain activities in times like these and if there was room for the two of you to lay out side by side, you would be fine! But with a bed this size, you’re more likely to be squished or, Fury forbid, _fall out of it.”_

She withdrew behind me, leaving me to gawk at the empty air.

“Alright, that’s your back sorted for the moment. Now for your stomach…”

After she left for the night, I settled back into bed to wait for Haurchefant to return, which he would once he received word that Madame was gone. So when someone knocked on the door, I called for them to enter without thinking. To my great surprise, it was not Haurchefant, but Count Edmont himself who opened the door.

I gasped, struggling to push myself upright out of respect since I really couldn’t do much else. “Oh, uh, Lord Edmont, I wasn’t, uh, expecting—”

“Be at ease,” he soothed, closing the door behind him. I slumped onto my mattress in relief. It wasn’t that sitting upright was difficult, I just wasn’t able to lift myself without my arms yet, and with one of them still on the mend, it was an uphill battle. Still, I managed to prop myself up on my pillows as he crossed the room so I at least wasn’t laying down completely.

“I am afraid Haurchefant has been called back to Camp Dragonhead for the moment. Worry not,” he added at look of alarm, “nothing is dreadfully amiss, and he will return by morning, if not tonight. But, as young Alphinaud and Tataru are still away on their business, I decided to keep you company. …If you would like?”

I nodded eagerly. I wanted to get to know the Count better. He had opened his home to us and we’d yet to have a private conversation, just the two of us, that wasn’t on business. I hardly knew him, even with what Haurchefant had told me. And after all…one day in the future, if the fates were kind, he and I could be family.

He had a book with him, I realized as he neared, tucked carefully under the arm not holding his cane. “Would you like to sit up?” he asked, noticing my efforts. I nodded meekly. Setting the book and his cane on the chair by my bedside, he carefully slid his hand beneath my back and helped me rise, then adjusted my pillows so I could lean against them.

I sighed in relief. Much better. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Moving his cane and the book, out of the way he sat down in the chair and smiled at me.

“Here, a gift for you,” the Count went on, extending the book towards me. I accepted it, though perhaps with not as much enthusiasm as I should have, for, really, what use did I have with a book? “I hope you are not upset but Haurchefant mentioned to me that you cannot read—”

“I can read,” I interjected hotly.

“But not our alphabet.”  
  
“I _can_ …just not well.”

The Count smiled once more. “This is a book for young children learning to read and write.” My lips parted in surprise. “It is yours to use and write in as you see fit, and it is written in Eorzean Common, rather than Ishgardian. May it serve you well for the future.”

“Thank you…” Genuinely touched by the gesture, I spent a few moments struggling to come up with adequate words. “I…thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Silence fell between us. The Count seemed to be considering me, or perhaps his words, and I took the moment to examine the book further. It was small, bound in green leather, its title stamped into the leather of the spine. I opened to the first page. There was a little illustration of a cat with a handkerchief scarf around its neck above a block of carefully printed, large text, welcoming me to my lessons. I smiled to myself.

“You are recovering well, I trust?” Count Edmont asked and I nodded, looking up at him. “Good. I am glad. You gave us all quite a fright there. The last time I saw my son so passionate about a cause, well, he was imploring me to give you patronage. But before that, I cannot even recall. The effect you have on him is…profound.”

I cocked my head to the side. That sounded good. I hoped it was good.

The smile he gave me assured me that it was. “I have seen more of my son in these past few months, spoken more with him, than I have in ten years. We have been father and son in name only for even longer. Why, before now, I could count on my hands the number of times he called me ‘father’ since he became a man! These walls had scarce heard his real laughter until you came.”

The Count reached for my arm. My eyes flicked from his hand to his face. “I do not know your heart, my lady, nor is it my place to ask, but I want you to understand what you have done for him, to him, even. And that alone has endeared you to me far more than any of your other deeds.”

I smiled, feeling a bit of heat rush to my cheeks. What was I even supposed to say to that? He made me happy, too, but…could I claim his impact on me was even half as profound as the Count claimed mine had been? My life, thus far, has been good. I had grown up in a good family that loved me unconditionally, that had never struggled to survive, in a land where Baba and I were never ridiculed or judged for being of mixed blood. We may as well have grown up in different worlds. 

“I want him to have a good life,” Edmont said. “And…he is resolved that you be part of it. Who am I to deny him?”

I smiled again. Hearing Edmont say such a thing was…relieving, in a way. For all the uncertainties in my relationship with Haurchefant, having the support of his father was simultaneously a burden lifted from my shoulders and a weight settling in my heart. But a good weight, warm and welcome, that reminded me of home.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“No, dear lady, thank _you_.” The Count smiled at me and withdrew his hand. “Now, might we move on to a lighter subject?”

I exhaled a laugh and nodded.

“May I ask from where you hail?”

I shook my head back and forth slowly. “I have not even told Haurchefant.”

It was Edmont’s turn to be confused. He leaned towards me. “Are you truly that committed to anonymity?”

“My family is alive and well. My home is untouched by the Garlean empire. My people are prosperous and free. All that could change in an _instant_ because of me.”

“…I understand. You are the sort who would do anything to protect those you care for.”

I nodded.

“Is there aught which you could tell me?” he asked.

I inhaled through my nose and considered it. Now that he understood the gravity of the situation, I knew I could trust him to be mum about any details I gave him. Still, as an educated man and political figure, I had to assume he was familiar with details of many different nations, and not give too much detail. I also didn’t want to tell him too much that Haurchefant himself did not know.

“My homeland borders the sea, but I grew up far from it, in a town near the mountain range where a clan of elezen have lived for centuries. My grandmother’s people,” I added with a smile…and waited. It took perhaps two seconds for the implications to register with him and then his eyes widened and flicked to my ears, as Haurchefant’s had when I’d told him. I giggled and shook my head. “I inherited my mother’s ears.”

Edmont had a strange look on his face and I waited for him to say something, but the longer the silence stretched on, the more concerned I became. He…hadn’t struck me as the prejudiced sort but…

“Your father is half-elezen, half-hyur, then, correct?” he asked. I nodded hesitantly. “I—forgive me, I was not aware it was possible for half-blood men to sire children.”

 _Oh._ I cleared my throat. _Well, Ishgardians would be aware of something like that, wouldn’t they?_ “It…uh, usually isn’t. I came as a bit of a shock to my parents. It, um, well,” I cleared my throat again. “A lot of people thought Mama had been unfaithful until I was born with Baba’s eyes and skin color.”

“No brothers and sisters?”

I shook my head with a wry smile. My existence alone was nothing short of a miracle, one that my grandmother always insisted was in answer to her prayers that her line would not end. I never put much stock in that.

“So just you and your parents?”

“And Baba’s mother, Mama’s parents, a few aunts and uncles, and cousins.”

“So, you grew up surrounded by a big family then,” he mused. “It must have been hard to leave them. What made you do it? What…pushes or inspires one to leave home and safety behind and take up the life of an adventurer?”

“Everyone’s different. Fame and wealth are big motivators. …I wanted to see the world. Adventuring seemed like the most reasonable profession for it apart from bein’ a merchant or a sailor. No sea legs at all, me.”

Edmont smiled. “What brought you to Eorzea?”

“Eorzea’s got the largest population of adventurers in the free world and, because of this, most of the animals and monsters in her borders never get too strong. It’s the perfect place for budding adventurers…myself included, although I did get my start back home. I really hadn’t expected to be here this long…and definitely hadn’t expected…well. Everything.” I shrugged. “Now I can’t bring myself to leave. After all that’s happened, I feel responsible for Eorzea. I feel like I’d be turning my back on them if I left—what?”

Edmont was staring at me with an absentminded smile on his face and twinkle in his eye. He caught himself quickly and shook his head. “Ah, ahem, it just occurred to me that I have never heard you speak at length in such a way before.”

I grinned. No, he hadn’t, had he? The only time would have been while Alphinaud and I were telling the history of the war and that had been all business. Though, really, it was a sign of how comfortable I had become with him, but that wasn’t something I’d be able to explain if he asked me to elaborate, so instead I replied, “You’re easy to talk to.”

He blinked once and then his smile grew. “You honor me. Now, what was it you were saying about Eorzea being perfect for budding adventurers?”   

* * *

 

Haurchefant did not return until the morning, when he turned up at my door with our breakfast, a smile, and a brief explanation of the business which had called him back to his post for the night. We sat side by side on my bed, our breakfast tray resting on our laps, and I told him of his father’s visit the night before. It was a tight fit, but so long as he tucked me under his shoulder, we could sit together without anyone dangling off the edge. Which suited me just fine, thank you very much, even if it made eating a bit difficult.

Though there was a chance he might fall off the bed any second now.

“You… _told_ him?” Haurchefant asked, flabbergasted that I had divulged the secret of my mixed blood to his father. A secret which, in my book, was relatively miniscule compared to the other things I had and had not yet shared.

Then he pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Did he…examine your ears?” I laughed and nodded vigorously. “Well, I feel better then. What else did you speak of?”

I chuckled quietly and focused on chewing my food for a few moments. “This and that,” I said as I swallowed. “Mostly we just got to know each other. …Though, ah, I think…he thinks that…um.” _Ah, how to word this?_ “I think he thinks…I am to be his daughter. Soon. Eventually.”

Haurchefant heaved a sigh that alone spoke volumes. “I believe he was onto us the moment you walked through the door. Possibly even before. Even when we were avoiding each other, we were obvious to him.”

“Avoiding each other,” I repeated. “Is that what that was?”

“Well, not intentionally avoiding each other, I suppose, but also not attempting to meet.” He sighed again, heavier than the last, and I set my spoon down.

“Was he—I mean—is it…okay? That your Dad thinks that? About us?”

Haurchefant looked down at my face with a pensive expression. “I have no qualms about it. …Do you?”

“I…” I trailed off, cleared my throat, and decided to bite the godsdamn bullet. “Haurchefant, I think it’s time we talked about that.”

The slight smile slid off his face like wax, lips pressing tightly together. “Are you certain you are well enough?”

“I’m well enough to talk and to listen, that’s all I need.”

“Very well.” Haurchefant nodded and withdrew his arm from my shoulders. He lifted the breakfast tray from my lap, placed it on my bedside table, then and settled himself into the chair beside my bed so that we could face each other. “That’s better. Alright, Rain, speak and I will listen.”

I took a deep breath and tried to decide how to word several months of built up pain and frustration. “You hurt me. A lot.” That seemed like a good place to start, and to his credit, Haurchefant merely nodded once in acceptance. “And it wasn’t your words, not really, ‘cos you—and Alphinaud—you were right. Us together, it’s risky, and it might not work like we want it to, even if we try.”

“But that is no reason to not try?” Haurchefant guessed and I scowled. “Sorry. Continue.”

“It’s not that. Well, yeah, that’s no reason to not try, but that’s not the _problem._ You—you made the decision without me. When you took me out there to that cliff, you’d already made up your mind—never even _mind_ that you confessed your heart to me just before—but you’d already _decided_ to give up. You made a decision about us without even _talking to me_ and—” I paused. Haurchefant looked like I’d stepped on his foot. Well…good. “Why didn’t you just talk to me first?”

Haurchefant took a deep breath and folded his hands in his lap. “I…have no answer which could possibly satisfy you.”

“Try.”

“Nor one which is easily articulated.”

“Try.”

He raised his eyebrows for a moment, considering me, then nodded once. I patiently allowed him the time to collect his thoughts. He seemed to be struggling with something, glancing at me periodically, only to return his gaze to a spot on the edge of my bed. “I am not accustomed to good things happening in my life,” he began. “Francel, my knighthood, my post…they were the three best things that had ever happened to me— then you came along. And then you came back, and again, and yet again and by some _miracle_ , you seemed to return the feelings which I had harbored. It seemed almost too good to be true. So when Alphinaud came to me… it seemed as if it had been. I…it… sorry.” He shook his head and rubbed his mouth. “I could find no flaw in his logic at the time and it seemed….so…” He looked at me, then, and the corner of his lip twitched upwards for the briefest of moments. “In my mind, that was it. You were to be yet one more thing in my life that I desperately wanted but could not have due to my circumstance. And how could I possibly risk you for my own sake? That you might choose to risk yourself for _me_ …”

“It didn’t occur to you at all?” I demanded. 

He shook his head. “I thought there was no alternative. I thought that when you heard the truth we’d been ignoring, you yourself would come to the same realization.”

I stared at him in dismay. But before I could even _begin_ to try and unpack all he had just revealed to me about himself, he was speaking again.

“But that is not all, and to pretend it is would be unfair to you. I am not accustomed to—I have never been in a relationship where the other is completely my equal. My brothers and other noble sons and daughters my age were ever elevated above me, Francel is many years my junior, and as for my men and women at Dragonhead—well, they are my subordinates. I do not mean to make an excuse,” he added quickly when I opened my mouth, “only hope that you understand that it is a shortcoming I must work to fix. One that I _will_ , you have my word.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Haurchefant repeated.

“Okay.” I licked my lips then reached for his hand. “Promise me, in the future, going forward, you will talk to me. Our relationship is gonna be hard, we both know it, so I need you to promise me that if anything happens, if your feelings change, if you become frustrated, scared, I need to know you’re going to _talk_ to me instead of just making decisions for us by yourself. ‘Cos that’s not a relationship or even partnership.”

Haurchefant cocked his head to the side, looked down at my hand for a moment, then clasped his free one atop it. “I would ask the same of you. Do not leave me in the dark. You need not report your every move to me, of course, but if you are to go into danger, I would know beforehand. Even if I can do naught but wait and pray, I would rather wait and pray than never know you were risking your life. Primals, garleans, dragons—even if time only permits a letter or a brief conversation via linkpearl, please.”

“I can do that.” I smiled. “I promise.”

“Then, so do I.”

We smiled at each other (probably very stupidly) for a few moments…and then he chuckled. “Was that the entire conversation?”

I thought about it for a second. “I think so. I said what I needed to.”

“As did I.”

“I forgive you.”

He smiled.

“Haurchefant?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you…for coming to get me.”

And not for the first time, but more than ever before, I saw love in his eyes, his smile. “I always will. Now, how about we finish breakfast, and perhaps we can go for a bit of a stroll around the manor so you can stretch your legs?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've got the next 4 chapters already written so at least the wait wont be as long this time LOL 
> 
> ALSO HOW BOUT THAT LIVE LETTER/BENCHMARK?!


	12. Reacquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you ever seen such a lazy Warrior of Light?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to bring back the best Scion!

The first clear memory I had of my imprisonment (that wasn’t pain) was sinking my teeth into the flesh of Zephirin’s hand, which he had so foolishly placed near my head while exposed. They’d gagged me for it. Unlike all the jagged shards of memories I had experienced thus far, this one brought me a strong sense of pride. To have vague knowledge I’d fought back was one thing, to know I’d gotten such a good strike in was something else.

That would be the only good memory to return.

Mostly…it was faces. Members of the Heavens Ward who’d ‘interrogated’ me. Charibert was prominent amongst them all. Pain. Fear. A failed attempt at summoning with my own blood as a catalyst. Several instances of trying and failing to escape their grasp, even before my interrogation had begun, but I may as well have been a babe being plucked from her crib for all the good it’d done.

Midgardsormr. I remembered, albeit very vaguely, that he had come to me. Saved me. Lead me out of the dungeons and towards the surface by siphoning his own power to me.

As the days passed and my body slowly recovered, I began to remember other things. Like the Echo failing me, perhaps due to the strain on my mind and body or perhaps due to my depleted aether and anima, it was hard to say. It had taken my interrogators a while to realize that I could not understand them anymore and they switched to Common. But I remembered…snatches of words, strange, foreign sounds I had never heard before, that I knew had to be Ishgardian.

“Haurchefant?” I asked hesitantly on the fourth day after my return to the manor, and he looked up from his book with a soft endearment in reply. “What does…what is…” I paused, struggling to recall the foreign words with enough clarity to repeat them. “peh…tee…ra…?”

He lowered his book, slipping it closed without marking the page, and set it on the table beside my bed. “Are those are Ishgardian words?”

“I think so.”

Haurchefant was quiet for a moment. “If I am understanding you correctly, it would mean… ‘little rat’.”

I ducked my head. Charibert had called me that more than once.

“You are remembering?” Haurchefant asked softly, reaching for my hand, and curled his fingers around it.

I sighed. “Been remembering, more like. Mostly just…flashes. Feelings. …I nearly took a hunk out of Zephirin’s hand.”

“Well done.”

I smirked.

“Do you remember any others?” he asked hesitantly.

“Y-yes, I think so. Um…I remember one, clearly. Parlay.”

“Ah, that means ‘speak.’ Depending on the context, he may have been commanding you to speak.”

Unsurprising, that, considering all of them said it at least once. “There’s one other. I think…the Archbishop said it. Ah…zees…la?”

Haurchefant’s frown became one of confusion and it was his turn to cock his head. “That… well. Are you sure it was not… _ah-vees_?”

“It might have been. Probably.”

“Part of a larger sentence, I take it. Alone, it could have multiple meanings, though none of them very significant. ‘Look there’ or ‘notice the’, for example.”

I frowned in disappointment but nodded regardless. It wasn’t his fault my memory was buggered.

“Might I…teach you some better words instead?” he offered. “It…saddens me that your first experience with my mother tongue was under such horrible circumstances.”

I cocked my head to the side, interested. “But how would we manage such a thing?”

“Well, I heard the sounds you intended to make just now, and you mine. Perhaps if we treat them less as words and more as sounds, we may be able to circumvent…whatever it is that translates for you.”

“Alright,” I agreed with a nod then cast my eyes about the immediate area. They fell on the learner book in my lap almost immediately. I tapped the cover with my finger. “What is this?”

With a smile on his face, Haurchefant slowly began to sound out the word. “Uhn...leev.” My lips parted slightly in surprise. He had always possessed an Ishgardian accent, and a posh one at that, but I had never heard it quite so thick than in that moment. He repeated himself once, twice, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to pronounce it right, but I tried, and his face lit up and that was good enough.

I opened the book to the first page. I pointed to the little illustration of a cat with a handkerchief scarf around its neck, a reoccurring character throughout the book. “This?”

“Uhn…sha.”

“What is that word at the beginning?”

“It means ‘a’ or ‘one’, depending on context. As does… _oon_.”

I hummed in understanding and turned the page, pointing at the first drawing there.

“Oon…pom.”

I went through page by page, each time pointing at the illustrations, and Haurchefant would say the words for me. I shifted closer to him as we progressed further, resting my head on his shoulder about halfway through, and he leaned his head against mine as well. We reached the end of the book and I couldn’t remember even half of what he’d said but he didn’t question me on my retention and, really, I didn’t care. He continued on, telling me the words for objects in the room, like chair, sofa, hearth, fire, floor, wall, bed. Fingers, hands, hair. Woman. Hyur. Elezen. Drowning me in knowledge, in his voice. The strange thickness to his accent, the warm timbre deep in his throat as his voice grew progressively softer and softer.

By the time he was done, I’d forgotten all about Charibert’s hateful words. His goal all along, no doubt. _  
_

_Knock knock knock_

“Come in!” I called. The door opened. Haurchefant turned and let out a soft sound. At the same moment, a familiar voice, as smooth and rich as cream, greeted me.

“Have you ever seen such a lazy Warrior of Light?”

“Shtola!” I cried, the book forgotten, and scrambled over Haurchefant. He let out a cry somewhere between indignation and amusement and helped wrangle the blankets so I could escape, though he nearly fell off the bed himself in the process.

My miqo’te friend beamed at me and opened her arms for a hug, which I eagerly gave. We both laughed and I felt the tip of her tail tickle the backs of my legs.

“I hope your journey was not too taxing,” Haurchefant greeted from behind us and I rounded on him.

“Did you know she was coming?”  
  
He smiled smugly. “Of course! It was a secret.” And he tapped the side of his nose for good measure.

“I am well, thank you,” Y’shtola replied.

I shook my head and turned back to Y’shtola. “What were you thinking, mucking about with the lifestream?”

“And what were you thinking, challenging Nidhogg one on one?”

“Two on one.”

“I hardly see the difference when the enemy is the size of a small castle.” Y’shtola pulled back and smiled—

Funny thing to notice first, someone’s eyes, but they were what jumped amongst all her other changes. They were completely white, clouded by a mist which seemed almost seemed to gleam in the sunlight.

I gasped, hand flying to my mouth, and she pressed her lips together, pained but understanding. “You’re blind!”  
  
“Yes…an unfortunate side effect of being within the aetherial stream. But I assure you, I am still quite aware of the world around me.” And to prove her point, she placed her hands on my shoulders, squeezed, and then let go. “Though it is not quite the same. However, considering most who found themselves in my situation would never find themselves again, I can hardly complain.”

I took a step back and looked her up and down properly. She was paler, and her hair seemed even whiter than before, though exactly the same length, but free of the clasps which she had always worn. She wore a long white jacket with slightly puffed sleeves, an open front below the waist, a frilled collar, and adorned with navy blue and red, plus thigh high black boots and black shorts. It suited her far more than anything I’d ever seen her wear. She looked like a mage now, and a considerable one.

“What do you think?” Y’shtola asked, sensing my gaze. “Tataru made it for me.”

“It suits you. And you match Alphinaud, a little.”

“And speaking of Alphinaud, I must say, I was quite surprised. He has…matured remarkably in such a short time. Whatever did you do to him?”

I grinned. “Believe me, if I knew, I’d keep doing it. Here, there’s a chair by the bed you can sit in.” Placing my hand on her shoulder, I guided her over to it.

“You are still confined to bed?” Y’shtola asked sympathetically.

“Not as such but _certain people_ get twitchy every time I get up without help.” I shot Haurchefant a look and he smiled back at me, utterly unabashed. With a shake of my head, I sat back down on my bed.

“If you ladies will excuse me, I will give you some time to catch up and go check on lunch.”

Y’shtola smiled at him and dipped her head. “Thank you, ser.”

Haurchefant winked at me then took his leave.

When the door shut behind him, Y’shtola turned to me with a smirk on her face. “His scent is quite strong in here…are you sharing these quarters?”

“Not officially but he’s barely left my side since…” I trailed off and sighed. “Since they found me.”

Y’shtola’s expression tightened with sympathy. “Yes, I had heard. I fear I cannot see the details of your skin, so are you recovering well?”

“I am,” I replied. “I look loads better than I did when I woke up and, well, they say I should’ve been dead when they found me…. So yeah. Lot better. I might even be able to leave the manor tomorrow for a walk. I hope.”

“Well, your aether looks promising.”

I blinked. Cocked my head to the side. “You can _see_ my _aether_?”

“I did say my vision was different,” she reminded me.

“Whoa. Okay. …What do you mean, then?”

Y’shtola folded her arms and leaned back in the chair. “There is no simple explanation, I fear, nor any words which can truly describe it. …Have you ever seen an opal?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“The world is white to me now, but not only white, for there is _color_ in the whiteness, like an opal in the light but not quite. It is in these colors that I can see details and shadows, and in pure white that I can but speculate.” Her eyes flicked to me. “I can see your face, I can see your eyes are open, but their color eludes me, as do all other details. I can see clearly where your body begins and ends but your body, to mine eyes, is not flesh, but a condensed area of aether in the shape of a person.” She lifted her hands in front of her eyes. “As am I. As are all things.”

That sounded bizarre, fascinating, and terribly lonely. I wasn’t sure if I should apologize so I held my tongue.

“Do you remember the night of the banquet?” I asked instead. 

“Only too vividly.” She rested her hands in her lap. “Though I am told the Sultana has since recovered from the ordeal and it was not an assassination, though it could have easily been. Alphinaud also told me that you fled to Camp Dragonhead in the aftermath, which was how you came to be here, in _Ishgard_ of all places, as wards of House Fortemps. Truly incredible. …Even more incredible, I am told, the Count has elected to patron me as well, and any of the others we may find.”

“Then…you don’t know where Thancred is?”

Y’shtola’s face fell and took my hopes along with it. “No. We can but pray that my spell saw him through the aether.” She sighed.

“Alphinaud said what you did was…forbidden. Why would you do something so—” _stupid, hair-brained_ “—risky?”

The miqo’te shrugged. “There was little time or choice. Were we to have simply teleported away—assuming our enemies did not kill us in the attempt—there would have been nothing stopping them from pursuing you, so I sought to delay them by collapsing the tunnel. There would not have been time for a conventional teleportation spell.” She shook her head. “I thought to give you and Minfilia _both_ a chance, but it would seem….”

“Did Alphinaud tell you what happened?”

“He did. And they found no body?”

I shook my head before realizing she might not be able to see that and replied aloud, “No.”

“Then I can only conclude that she, too, allowed herself to be spirited away by my spell.”

I clenched my jaw and looked down at my hands. I must have been too far away to ride the coattails of her spell because I hadn’t even _felt_ it. But if Minfilia had gone back, if she had willingly chosen to teleport with them, then that could only mean she shared Thancred’s fate, whatever it may have been, or worse, Y’shtola’s. “But why?” I wondered aloud. “Why would Hydaelyn ask her to do this?”  
  
“I have no idea…and, though it pains me to say, I haven’t the faintest idea of how we might go about locating them, as neither of them have any blood-kin left in this world.”  Y’shtola sighed. “For now, we can but wait and hope one of them learns of our acquittal and sends word. Doubly so for Yda and Papalymo, for they have almost certainly gone to ground somewhere remote if they managed to avoid detection this long.”

It was heartening to hear her say what I’d been hoping for weeks now. They would not have risked sheltering in the Shroud with their faces being so well known there and, more likely than not, if they were in Coerthas, they would’ve heard about our presence here by now and come. Which meant they were, most likely, somewhere still in Thanalan, La Noscea, or perhaps somewhere along the east coast. Radz-at-Han was an option, too, if they were desperate enough.

I sighed quietly. There were just too many places they could be and, as much as I hated it, they weren’t who I needed to focus on finding when I was back on my feet.

“It does us little good to dwell on such things,” Y’shtola said a moment later. “I would much rather hear how you’ve been getting on.  I am told Tataru has integrated herself the locals quite seamlessly, but what of yourself?”

So, I told her about the tasks I’d been given in my first few weeks with Haurchefant’s brothers. Y’shtola listened with a small smile on her face and hands folded in her lap. We didn’t often get to sit and talk like this, but Y’shtola had ever been interested in my adventures and exploits for they were so unlike her own day to day tasks as a Scion and Archon. She asked questions here and there, she was particularly interested in the islands in the Sea of Clouds, murmuring that she would have to see it for herself. I wondered just how _good_ this strange new aether-vision of hers was. Would she really be able to behold the islands in all their magnificence?

“And what of Lord Haurchefant?” Y’shtola asked with a grin that was altogether too sly for it to have been an innocent question.

“What of him?” I replied carefully, sensing a trap.

“I was not aware you two were so close.”

“It’s…a recent development,” I mumbled.

The mirth on Y’shtola’s face faded a little. “What manner of development?”

“He…we…care for each other a great deal,” I said slowly. “But in light of current events, we, um, we have decided it’s best if we don’t…er…court. For the moment.”

“You’ve given this some thought,” she noted. “Then, pray, allow me to offer you a bit of advice. You are a Scion of the Seventh Dawn and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I interrupted quickly, “Alphinaud beat you to it weeks ago.”  
  
“Did he now?” Y’shtola raised her eyebrows. “I shudder to think. Very well. So long as you understand that discretion and caution are of the upmost importance, I shall leave the affairs of your heart to you.” She smiled at me. “Lord Haurchefant’s affections for you have ever been plain. I am happy for you.”

I smiled in return, ducking my head to hide my flushed cheeks, forgetting that she wouldn’t have been able to see them anyway. “Thanks.”

“You of all people deserve a man who would support you as he has.”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in!” I called.

This time it was Haurchefant who entered, though he did not come bearing a tray of food as I had anticipated. “Lunch is ready!”

I stared at him.

“And waiting for you in the dining room,” he added and, oh, this day was just getting better and better! “Do you need help or—”

I shook my head and climbed back out of bed, striding towards my wardrobe.

Haurchefant nodded. “I shall be outside, then.” 

There was a white silk robe in my wardrobe, one of the few garments I had yet to use since I wasn’t the sort to wonder about in my sleep clothes. Thankfully, the robe was simple enough that I didn’t need Y’shtola’s help, though I definitely would have for a dress. I pulled on a pair of ‘slippers’, special soft-soled shoes meant only for indoor wear (these highborn, I swear), to keep my feet warm and then we were off.

Edmont and Emmanellain rose to their feet as we entered the dining room and Honoroit and Firmien bowed politely from their positions by the wall.

“Good to see you up and about once more,” Edmont went on, paused, then cocked his head. “Well, more or less.”

I grinned. More or less indeed.

Haurchefant helped me to seat directly to the left of Edmont and pulled the chair out for me. Edmont cleared his throat, looking directly at Emmanellain, who let out a soft ‘oh’ of realization and hurried to pull out the chair next to his own.

“Here you are, miss Y’shtola,” the young lord said primly.

Y’shtola turned to look and for a moment, seemed to stare uncomprehendingly at him. Then she smiled. “Thank you.”

Haurchefant pushed my chair in for me then took his place at the seat next to me. Y’shtola took her seat and assured Emmanellain that she could do the rest herself and he returned to his own. I looked down the table. Two more places were set though their chairs remained unoccupied. Tataru and Alphinaud’s, most like.

Scarce had the thought crossed my mind when Tataru toddled into the dining room. Her face absolutely lit up when she spotted me sitting at the table. “Rain!” she cried. “You’re up! Feeling better then?”

I nodded. “Much.”

“Good. People will be pleased to hear it. I swear, I get asked about your health no less than five times an hour,” she informed me as she walked behind my chair. Haurchefant stood once more and pulled out the chair on his other side which I could now see had the special pillow they’d had brought in when we first arrived to allow her to sit higher.  Their table was simply too big for her otherwise.

“How are things out there?” I asked.

Tataru made a face and Edmont cleared his throat. “Do not concern yourself with Ishgard’s state of affairs for the time being. Your primary focus should be your own well-being.”

 _That bad, huh?_ I thought.

“Though, from what I hear, Dragonhead is doing well with Artoirel at the helm,” Haurchefant added. “So, well, in fact, I may yet return to a desk _free_ of paperwork.” There was a genuine wistfulness in his expression and it brought a smile to my face. Two days, perhaps three, and then he would have to return to his post. The thought brought me no small amount of displeasure but asking for longer would’ve been selfish of me. I was not more important than the people of Dragonhead.

“A good experience for him, I think,” Edmont agreed then turned a shrewd eye on Emmanellain. “One you may benefit from yourself.”

I wasn’t sure who seemed more distressed by the prospect, Emmanellain or Haurchefant. Yeeeeaaaah, _that’d_ go well. I’d give it an hour before he offended every senior knight, two before Medguistl considered poisoning him, and three before he did something to prompt the forces of Natalan to march on the gates.

A glance behind Emmanellain revealed a new contender for most daunted at the idea: Honoroit.

“Perhaps someday,” Haurchefant said quickly, “ _far_ in the future.”

Yeah maybe when Honoroit was a man grown himself.

Alphinaud, perfect as ever in his timing, chose that moment to make his appearance and the subject was dropped. Thank gods. He smiled when he saw me sitting at the table. After he was seated himself, Honoroit and Firmien were dismissed to take their meals and lunch was brought in by the kitchen staff. Fresh warm bread and a rich, creamy potato soup which smelled positively _heavenly._

Y’shtola agreed wholeheartedly. “Aaah, delicious,” she all but purred after she took her first bite. “The cuisine in Gridania has never been to my tastes. Thank you again, Count Edmont, for agreeing to accept me under your roof.”

“You are quite welcome, madam,” Edmont replied. “I apologize for not being able to speak with you at length earlier this morning.”

“Think nothing of it.” Y’shtola smiled. “My arrival was hardly timely.”

Edmont dipped his head. “You are free to come and go at your leisure. You are by no means required to take your meals with us, either, though you are always welcome to. The kitchens are open to you, as is the library, and any of our facilities. I only ask that you respect closed doors and conduct yourself in a respectable manner when we have visitors.”

 “Certainly, Lord Edmont,” she replied, then lifted another spoonful of soup to her mouth.

“Should you wish to put your skills to use for House Fortemps as your three predecessors have, you need only say, though of course, you are not obligated to. As I understand, you are recently covered from a singularly…taxing event.”

She smiled once more. “You could call it that. And though I thank you for your understanding, I have no intention of remaining idle. Though my first priority will be locating our missing friends, I am more than happy to lend any support I can.”

Edmont smiled in return then turned his attention to his soup.

“So…” Emmanellain cleared his throat, “you are from Sharlayan, madam?”

“I am,” Y’shtola replied.

Emmanellain glanced between her and Alphinaud and I braced myself. “I was still rather young when the colony to the west was abandoned, so you and Alphinaud are among the first I’ve met. Tell me, do all Sharlayans have hair of white?”

Edmont’s eyes snapped to his youngest son and beside me, Haurchefant exhaled through his nose. Y’shtola, on the other hand, was entirely unbothered. “Not as such, no, but it is indeed quite common.”

Emmanellain smiled and I realized his question had been born of genuine curiosity. A curiosity not unlike Haurchefant’s whenever he asked me questions about the world beyond Coerthas. “Quite unlike us.” He gestured to his own mop of dark hair.

She looked at Haurchefant. “Perhaps, although some scholars believe it was the elezen tribe who settled here in Coerthas who introduced your particular hair color, Lord Haurchefant, to Eorzea at large, and that all pure-blooded Elezen with it can trace their roots back here.”

“Are you a scholar then, madam?”

Y’shtola nodded. “I am.”

“She’s real smart,” I said behind my hand to hide my half-full mouth.

“We have a library,” Emmanellain went on, “here on the first floor. I could show you after lunch, if you like.”

Y’shtola smiled ruefully. “As much as I would like to take you up on the offer, I fear my days of enjoying books are behind me.”

I wrinkled my nose at the reminder. Poor Y’shtola.

Emmanellain cocked his head to the side, uncomprehending, but then paused…and leaned closer to her, only to draw back in surprise. “Oh, pardon me! I-I did not realize—you do not act as if—I am terribly sorry.”

“’Tis fine, ‘tis fine,” she assured him with a wave of her hand.

Count Edmont frowned, so I muttered to him, “She’s blind.”

“You are without sight?” the Count exclaimed. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, my lords, I am fine, I assure you, and I am more than aware of the world around me. You need not overly concern yourselves. Although,” she turned back to Emmanellain, “I would not mind being read to, if you have any books you think may interest me.”

Emmanellain considered her for a moment, then smiled, almost shyly. “O-of course. We can have a look—or, well, I can—um…yes, of course.”

Well, fancy that. I hadn’t the slightest idea what Emmanellain’s game was here though I was also open to the possibility that perhaps there _wasn’t_ one. Either way, Y’shtola could take care of herself and should worst come to worst, well, Honoroit would be there to smooth things over. Uh, hopefully.

Conversation continued between bites of food. I did not participate except when prompted and instead chose to simply enjoy being around so many people at once again. If it weren’t for the lingering weakness in my body from the trek, I would almost feel as if all were normal once more.

When lunch was over, Y’shtola and Emmanellain set out for the library and Haurchefant and Alphinaud helped me back to my room. The trip was surprisingly tiring, no doubt from the strain of climbing the stairs on my own, but the satisfaction of having made it there and back was more than worth it. I got my second wind the moment I spotted my bed and hurried across the distance between us and flopped down face-first, a sigh of bliss escaped me as my body relaxed against the mattress.

Haurchefant laughed out loud and I heard his footsteps as he approached the bed, and Alphinaud’s quieter ones echoing them.

“Do you feel better?” Haurchefant asked and I nodded. “Are you going to stay like that?”  
  
I nodded again.  
  
“What is this?” Alphinaud asked curiously and I heard him pick something up from close by, followed by a surprised, “Is this a child’s school book?”

I raised my head. “It’s mine.” Dropped my head again.

Alphinaud was quiet for a long moment. “Rain…” he said slowly. “Can you not read?”

Sighing, I rolled over onto my back, and propped myself up onto my elbows. I felt a twinge of pain in my abdomen as I did, and, grimacing, I pushed myself upright. “I can read just fine, thanks. …Just not Eorzean letters.”

The look of utter confusion on his face was comical. He seemed to be wracking his brain, no doubt trying to remember if I’d ever shared that bit of information with him. I didn’t recall telling him, specifically, as it had never come up, nor had it ever really mattered. Minfillia had known, as had Y’shtola, and Yda, but my literacy, or lack thereof, had never concerned him.

“How did I not know this?” he wondered aloud. I flopped back onto my back.

“I was rather surprised, too,” Haurchefant told him, “when I saw her native alphabet for the first time. I hadn’t even been aware she had a different native tongue at the time.”

“But then…how do you read missives?” Alphinaud asked. “And letters?”

“Well, if the writing is neat enough, I can…sort of read,” I replied, staring at the ceiling. “It’s a slow process. Otherwise I just have people read to me. But there’s not many people who are writing to _me_ anyway.”

Alphinaud was quiet for a few seconds. “I still cannot believe I never knew.”

“Well, while you mull that over, I’m gonna take a nap.” I replied, rolling onto my side so I could pull my legs onto the bed.

“Here, your robe, let me help,” Haurchefaint said softly, holding out his hands to me, and gently pulled me to my feet once more. He held me loosely by my biceps while I untied my robe, then stepped behind me to help me ease it off. I sank down onto the bed and reached for my blankets while he draped the robe across the back of the chair. Then he took the blankets from me and motioned for me to lay back while he tucked me in.

Alphinaud was silent throughout, though I was sure I could feel his gaze on us. As Haurchefant was finishing straightening my blankets, he cleared his throat quietly. “If I may, before you sleep, I wish to discuss one thing with you.”

Before I could answer, a loud yawn pushed its way up my throat and made my eyes water. “Okay,” I sighed.

“Can it not wait?” Haurchefant muttered.

“I would rather it did not.” Alphinaud replied. “Rain, did Y’shtola tell you what happened to her?”

I nodded.

“Then I assume she told you of the others as well?”

I nodded again.

“In that case, good. Though the matter of the archbishop remains pressing, until we receive word of a sighting, there is simply naught which can be done. It will behoove us little to set out in search when we have naught the faintest idea where they may have gone or what they could possibly hope to achieve. Therefore, I have decided to leave Ishgard.”

“You what?” I blurted out, bolting upright.

Alphinaud lifted his hands. “Easy, please do not hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine what do you mean you’re _leaving_?”

“Well, what reason do I have to stay?” he asked. “Our names our cleared, our enemies scattered and defamed, and there is naught I can do here for the time being. I can neither help you nor the city, but the Scions are desperately in need of leadership.”

“And you think you’re the one for the job?”

“No,” he replied, “I do not…but for the moment, I am all there is. Our people are scattered to the four winds, you saw it yourself, or do you not recall?”

“I…recall…” I said slowly, though I had indeed forgotten the extent of it until that moment, the memories buried beneath the stress of the Sultana, our battle with Nidhogg, the raid on the city, and…and…

“I have to do this,” Alphinaud went on, his voice and expression tight. “Though I haven’t the faintest idea where to begin searching for our people, if we can but get word around that the Scions are acquitted and reassembling, I am sure they will resurface. Yda and Papalymo included.”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. “You’re right. You’re right, yeah. What about Y’shtola?”

“She is aware of my intentions and will join me ere long. Though she might not look it, she is still recuperating. Her time in the Lifestream would be akin to clinging to a plank of wood in a gale. That she survived at all is a miracle.”

I shuddered. While sailing to Eorzea, our ship had gotten caught in a storm big enough to concern even the crew. That had been bad enough…but what he’d described? No thank you.

“She will join me when she is able, as I hope you will. Eorzea needs—ahem, I mean, it would benefit Eorzea if you began reappearing within her borders once more.”

Haurchefant frowned a little at that.

“The Archbishop—” I began, but Alphinaud cut me off.

“Is in the wind. I will be speaking with Ser Aymeric in about an hour on the matter but as far as I’m concerned, neither you nor I can do anything until he or his ilk are spotted. And in the meantime, Eorzea still faces its usual problems, and like as not, it is only a matter of time before the beast tribes hear of your absence and a new primal appears and—”

Alphinaud continued speaking but I didn’t hear a single word of it. Something was…stirring. Nagging. Right there, in my mind, I could feel it. Forgotten, repressed, but _important…_

_Beast tribes. Beast tribes… primal …summon…summoning they’re going to summon another primal…another primal…new primal new primal going to summon a **new—**_

I think I might’ve gasped.

_The Archbishop rising to his feet. Glowing eyes._

_Halone staring down at me._

_The staff, raising—_

_“I am a man ascending. I am more.”_

_The aether swelling, tightening, cloying. Zephirin. Zephirin. The Archbishop—_

_“Perhaps by morning you will be more…amenable to my Blessing.”_

A cry ripped its way from my throat, my hand snapping out to grasp at the headboard for support. From somewhere far away, I heard Haurchefant call out my name.

_“I was a fool and so were you.”_

_Pain in my face as Zephirin backhanded me, the first of many such strikes to come—struggling, kicking, biting, fighting, failing failing failing—a fist hurtling at my face, armored feet kicking my stomach help me help me help me help_

“NO!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, clutching at my head.

_“Your face is off limits to me, but fret not, little rat, that leaves me plenty to work with.”_

_Ripping my dress from me give it back give it back hands on my bare flesh no no give it back_

_Fire, heat, burning my eyes, my nose, heat, **pain—**_

My nails curled, digging into my scalp, sharp pain, real, now, _focus focus_ _FOCUS—_ **“** NO!” I screamed again and then there were hands on my arms—

_Strong hands—won’t break, won’t give, won’t falter, tried tried tried failed—gripping me by the arms, holding me upright. A blow to the face, the gut, then the questions again and again—_

Not again. **Never again**.

I jerked my arms apart to break my assailants grip and swung blindly until I made contact with something squishy (their face?) and shoved them away with all my might. Someone yelled. I hurtled out of the bed and another body moved to block my path, but I punched them in the gut before they could make a grab at me. I bolted for the door, my only escape, had to get out, had to get away, I would **_not let them hurt me again, they would not make me talk, I had to go—_**

My hand closed around the door handle…and then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...oh dear...


	13. Primal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The miqo’te woman swept into the room with more power and authority in every stride than any other man or woman present, himself included, and commanded all to stand aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  __  
>  ***INTENSE SHADOWBRINGERS SCREAMING***  
>   
> 
> y'all

The sound of Rain’s screams brought the nearly the entire house to her room and Haurchefant couldn’t blame them. Having witnessed the entire thing, he still wasn’t sure what had happened. One moment Rain had been sitting there listening to Alphinaud talk, rightfully upset but calm, then she’d…panicked.

No, that wasn’t true, was it? He did know what had happened. He’d seen such things before. War, though known well to their people, was an ugly thing and those who experienced too keenly its horrors were never the same. Some more so than others. He knew her time in the Vault would have been its own brand of hell, enough so that her mind had repressed her memories of the events, and he knew that those memories were coming back to her. Until that moment, barring the events in the hospital, the most adverse reaction he had seen from her had been an aversion to the fireplace that she’d tried to hide.

He hadn’t expected… Rain had survived so many horrors relatively unscathed, things which would leave lesser men and women quaking behind their mothers’ skirts once more. That she would find herself trapped so deeply in a memory as to attack them…

What luck that Alphinaud had recovered from the fearsome blow she’d delivered to his gut in time to cast a sleeping incantation before she could flee the room. Halone only knew what she could’ve done to any number of the staff, or worse, his father, before they’d managed to calm her. …He could only hope that her sleep would be dreamless.

Haurchefant managed to ignore his own pain long enough to move her from the door before it was flung open, thank the Fury, but then it was a flurry of activity as members of the staff flew into the room to assess the situation. They helped Haurchefant carry her to her bed and someone helped Alphinaud, still gasping, into a chair. Then Emmanellain arrived, red-faced and wide-eyed, with Y’sthola at his side. The miqo’te woman swept into the room with more power and authority in every stride than any other man or woman present, himself included, and commanded all to stand aside.

“What happened?” she demanded, taking Haurchefant’s place beside Rain’s head, and he did not understand how a woman with such sharp a gaze could possibly be blind.

“I, um, I believe she became ensnared by a memory,” Haurchefant replied. “She started screaming and attacked Alphinaud and I.”

Y’sthola’s frown deepened. “Are you both alright?”

“Master Alphinaud took a rather nasty blow to the abdomen—”

“I am well!” the boy croaked from across the room.

“And I a blow to the face but nothing of concern.” Haurchefant finished, and his jaw chose that moment to throb painfully, as if in objection.

Y’shtola nodded curtly and placed her hands on Rain’s cheeks. “And did she lose consciousness on her own?”

“No, t’was Alphinaud’s doing.”

“Which spell, Alphinaud?” she barked over her shoulder.  
  
“Repose,” Alphinaud replied and Y’shtola’s expression cleared for a brief moment.

“Good,” she said, with a slight tilt of her head in Haurchefant’s direction. “Such a spell will not have harmed her.”

Haurchefant wasn’t convinced. “She hit her head when she fell, I could not reach her in time.”

“Did she now?” Y’shtola murmured, sliding her hands up to encompass more of Rain’s head, and then they began glowing with healing light.

The irregular tapping of a cane accompanying hurried footsteps alerted Haurchefant to his father’s arrival. The servants hovering near the door scattered like startled hens when the Count swept into the room with Firmien.

“What is going on?” Edmont demanded and Haurchefant rose to his feet.

“Rain…had a fright…but Y’shtola is seeing to her,” he said slowly and Edmont must have heard the apprehension in his words because he promptly shooed everyone from the room with a sharp gaze and firm words. Within moments, only Emmanellain, Edmont, Alphinaud, Firmien, and Haurchefant himself remained, apart from the two women on the bed.

“Emmanellain,” Edmont warned his youngest son, looked ready to protest, but ultimately decided better of it and departed the room after the rest, and closed the door behind him.

“Now,” said Edmont, “what _really_ happened?”

“She relived a memory, Lord Edmont,” Y’shtola answered without looking up from her work. “I am sure you know of such things.”

His expression softened with concern, concern Haurchefant himself was feeling. Though they did not necessarily guarantee it, such flashbacks were known to accompany dragon shock. If Rain were to develop it from this, her life would be even more difficult from here on out.

“How unfortunate.”

“Did I cause this?” Alphinaud asked quietly and Edmont and Haurchefant turned to face him. The poor lad looked deeply troubled by the thought.

“No. Not directly, at least,” Haurchefant assured him. “‘Tis like your words brought back some of that which she had forgotten.”

Alphinaud sputtered in confusion. “But what did I say that could have…?”

“Such memories can…be brought on by anything,” Edmont explained. “You are not at fault. Though we must pray this does not become a regular occurrence.”

Rain groaned softly from the bed. Alphinaud sprang to his feet, Haurchefant and Edmont whirled around, and Y’shtola withdrew her hands, murmuring her name softly.

Rain’s eyes fluttered open then squeezed shut for a few seconds before opening again, accompanied by a grimace. “Whappened?” she slurred.

“What do you remember?” Y’sthola asked instead.

Rain smacked her lips, considering this for a moment. “Alphinaud was talking.”

“What about?”

“He’s…going back…to the Toll.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“…Upset.”

“Alright, can you remember anything else?”

Rain said nothing and stared straight up at the ceiling. Slowly, her brows knitted together and her eyes began to flick around as she sorted through her memories. Though nothing could have prepared Haurchefant for what she said next.

“Primal.”

“What do you mean?” Y’shtola asked, her voice suddenly wary.

“I—I may have spoken of primals,” Alphinaud began but Rain shook her head and started to push herself up, but Y’shtola placed her hands on her shoulders to stop her.

“No, no, I _remember now_!” Rain insisted, pushing herself up, or at least trying to. “The Archbishop didn’t just summon a primal, he _is_ the primal! It’s him, not Halone, it’s him, I remember, he tried to temper me, it’s **_him_**!”

“Shhh, alright, alright,” Y’shtola soothed, completely calm in their friend’s growing franticness. “I hear you, I believe you, _but_ , I need you to remain calm and focus on me and my voice. We do not want you hurting yourself or anyone else.”

Rain was breathing heavy but she nodded, closing her eyes, and took a deep breath.

 _By the Fury_ , Haurchefant thought. The prospect of Halone being summoned as a primal beholden to the bidding of the Archbishop was a difficult idea to stomach. But that the Archbishop _himself_ had—what, taken a primal unto his own flesh?

“Rain,” Haurchefant asked slowly and her eyes focused on him immediately. “Do you mean to say he has become a primal in in the manner that Lady Iceheart became Shiva?”

She nodded vehemently. “Not just him though, it’s the Heavens Ward, too. Th-I don’t think they’ve got primals too, I mean, I don’t remember any of them trying to temper me, but they…weren’t…” She frowned and shook her head back and forth in frustration.

“Alright,” Haurchefant murmured, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You need not say more right now. Relax and—”

“I can’t! He’s a fucking primal and he’s out there somewhere—!”

“And you are here, all but bedridden! What good will risking your health do for us? I will go inform Ser Aymeric and we will decide how to proceed.”

Inhaling deeply, she exhaled on a nod and laid back down with a resounding sigh. Y’shtola said nothing, merely pushed a few strands of hair from Rain’s face, then turned to Haurchefant motioned for him to come closer. He did so, confused, and she placed her hands on either side of his face. She pressed lightly against his skin with her fingertips and when she found what she was looking for, the area where Rain had struck, magic illuminated her hands once more. The lingering ache from Rain’s attack began to fade mere moments after.

Though it pained Haurchefant to leave her, Ser Aymeric needed to be informed at once and he was the best man for the job. So, when Y’shtola pulled her hands away, he thanked her, he rose from the bed, then addressed his father, “I shall return as soon as I can.”

Edmont dipped his head. “Go. We will watch over her.”

Haurchefant stopped by his room to collect his sword, the sheathe of which would mark him as a man of House Fortemps, then made for the front door where Firmien awaited with his coat. They exchanged a few brief words then Haurchefant headed outside. The sky was thick with clouds ripe to burst with snow, though the wind was mild enough to not be bothersome. If they were fortunate, the clouds would hold and the snows would pass them by. Though Haurchefant rather thought they’d used up all their luck as of late.

The streets were reasonably populated for midday and though he could not see anything amiss, there seemed to be an underlying tension in the air. A city struggling to keep on its feet after being so thoroughly rocked, with a new, unknown danger looming over them, and their old enemy hovering uncertainly to the west. Or maybe it was just his own warped perception.

He made quick use of the aethernet and arrived at the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly just a few minutes after leaving the manor. Getting into see Ser Aymeric, however, wasn’t as simple. The door which lead to the hall which contained Ser Aymeric’s office was under double guard and they would not, under any circumstances, let Haurchefant pass, not even when he told them who he was, why he’d come, what role he had played in the recent raid on the Vault. Perhaps he’d been a fool to come without an appointment and bearing no proof of his allegiances or identity other than a sword and he was considering returning the manor to obtain both when the door behind the guards opened and Lucia emerged.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Lord Haurchefant? What brings you here?”

“I must speak with Ser Aymeric at once. If you would please?” He gestured to the two guards hopefully.

  
“He has just begun his lunch break,” she said, though there was a question in her gaze. “But I could deliver a message?”

Haurchefant glanced at the guards. “Rain was correct.”

Immediately, Lucia pushed the door open wider and motioned him through. “This way, at once.”

To his credit, he resisted the urge to give the guards a smug look.

Lucia lead him down the hall to the door to Aymeric’s office, where another armed pair of guards waited. They greeted Lucia with some surprise as she had only just left, then she bid them take a position closer to the outer door. They obeyed without question and then Lucia and Haurchefant entered the office. Poor Aymeric looked downcast at being interrupted and Haurchefant could only imagine how hectic this last week must have been for him, though his expression brightened when he saw it was him. “Welcome, Lord Haurchefant. Sit, if you would like, though I am afraid you have caught me during my afternoon meal…”  
  
“Forgive mine intrusion,” Haurchefant replied with a bow. “But it was imperative we speak at once. I am… Over the course of the last few days, Rain has begun to… remember.” Aymeric’s face tightened in sympathy. “A few minutes ago she…relived some of those memories. Violently.”

“Is she alright?” Lucia asked, stepping into view.

He nodded. “It was a bit of a shock for everyone.” He gestured to the side of his face which he assumed bore some bruising despite Y’stola’s magic. “But ere I departed she was calm and in good hands. But…it would seem that she was correct about the Archbishop and that a primal was involved.”

His lunch forgotten, Aymeric leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. “Indeed,” he murmured.

“You do not seem surprised.”

“Because I am not. I have harbored such suspicions for nigh on a week now. Though I myself witnessed only one of the Heavens’ Ward in action, many of the reports and accounts which I received were alike all in that the members of the Heavens Ward, when pushed to fight, revealed themselves to be capable of powers and feats beyond those of mortal men. In light of Rain’s claims, that they might have come into possession of a power akin to that of a primal was not so far-fetched. However, as no one actually witnessed a primal in the flesh, I could not be sure. But Rain remembers one?”

Haurchefant nodded but then hesitated before speaking again. Though many believed such things to be lies and slander, there was a rumor that Aymeric himself was the son of the Archbishop. Whether or not Aymeric took them as truth, Haurchefant did not know, though suspected that Aymeric at least gave them some merit, albeit privately. “According to her, the…Archbishop himself has become a primal.”

Ser Aymeric closed his eyes.

“Is she certain?” Lucia asked sharply. “Memories of traumatic experiences can be confused, warped—”

“She claimed he attempted to temper her at least twice,” Haurchefant replied. “I would think she more than anyone would recognize such an experience for what it is.”

Lucia cocked her head in acknowledgement then turned to Aymeric. “Lord Commander?”

Aymeric, eyes still closed and utterly unreadable, said nothing for several long moments. Then he uttered, “Thordan.”

“My lord?”

He opened his eyes. “I have a theory. Lord Haurchefant, pray allow me to do a bit of research, then I will join you at Fortemps’ Manor in say, perhaps, two bells?”

Haurchefant dipped his head. “As you wish.”

“I will need to speak with Rain as well,” he added gently.

“She is resting.”

“I am sorry, Haurchefant, but she is the Warrior of Light, and we have a primal on the loose. Two, actually, if you take the Vanu’s whale into account. We cannot afford to omit her.”

Haurchefant clenched his jaw but nodded. “Very well. I shall let my father know to expect you in a few bells.”

* * *

 

Aymeric’s words had been an unexpected wake-up call and they lingered in Haurchefant’s mind for the hours that followed.

The Warrior of Light was arguably the most powerful person in the realm. She disposed of gods as if they were mere beasts, slew dragons, thwarted armies, toppled Allagan monstrosities if all the stories were to be believed. Why, she could probably dethrone the Emperor himself if she put her mind to it. She was infallible, unbeatable, Eorzea’s ace in the hole, and their best line of defense. Ishgard’s now, too, perhaps.

Rain was a young woman with a lilting accent that told of a foreign land. She had to be coerced into dressing for the weather but simultaneously disliked being cold. She was a skilled fighter and could probably kill a man with just about anything she found lying around, but she had a head for herbs and a passion for plants, and she’d sooner wield a hatchet than a sword. She cared about people, she wanted to help them and took joy from being able to.

Haurchefant met the former, fell for the latter, and loved both with all his heart.

This past week had been one of the hardest of his life, and that was truly saying something. Even though he knew, logically, he could have no more prevented this from happening than he could the horde from attacking, he still could not help but feel as if he had utterly failed her. …It was difficult to reconcile but he knew he would come to accept the fact that, though she was his to love and to support, she _could not_ be his to protect.

Haurchefant was a protector, it was in his nature, it had been for as long as he could remember. To him, the best way to protect her would be to keep her from harm as much as he could. But Rain did not need a protector, she needed a supporter, and that was who he would be, however he could be. A rock, a source of comfort, love, affection, and security. Her comrade in arms when possible and staunchest supporter from the sidelines when not. A home to return to, a promise of tomorrow.

Rain had a duty to the world and it loomed ever closer and closer now. She had to be ready to carry it out, to face those who had harmed her so, and end them.

He looked at her face, smooth and calm, free of pain and worry, and committed it to memory.

She would be ready, he would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short, but the next chapter would have been too long imo with this on it, so here we are. Also, I have shamelessly borrowed KivaEmber's term for PTSD "dragon shock" she said i could 
> 
>  
> 
> anyway ShB got me like 12 kinds of fucked up, not least of which being the goddamn _music_ holy shit throw wide the fuckin GATES that Soken may pass


End file.
